Need You Now
by lotzalove
Summary: Alright, this is a sequel to Don't You Want Me. Dedicated to C.H.W.13 for giving me this awesome idea! Another songfic, this time it's Need You Now by Lady Antebellum. When somebody from Catherine's life returns, what will it mean for Greg? Written in past/present form. Rated for mature themes and language.
1. Alone

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**Alright, thank you C.H.W.13 for this great idea. As soon as you suggested the idea, this plot instantly formed in my head, so this story is deidcated to you! **

**This is the sequel to Don't You Want Me, so if you haven't read that yet, I suggest you read it first. Anyway, this story is another songfic, this time, it's based on Need You Now by Lady Antebellum. This story is about Grant from the last story, and how he threatens to ruin Catherine and Greg's happiness. I'm doing this in the same format as the last one, jumping between past and present. So this first chapter is set in the present, which is two years after the end of the last story. The chapters in the past will begin a few weeks after the last story, but might move forward months at a time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and please review if you want more.**

_Picture perfect memories scattered all around the floor._

_Reaching for the phone 'cause I can't fight it anymore._

* * *

Greg got up. He went into the kitchen and burnt himself some toast for breakfast. He spooned jam onto it, or was it the homemade chutney his mom had sent him? It didn't matter anyway. He didn't even taste it. Greg poured himself a cup of coffee, and added some whiskey from the little silver flask he kept by his bed. Greg's once heavnely Blue Hawaiin wasn't doing much for him these days, he needed an extra boost in it.

Greg went for a shower, turning the water up so high he couldn't see past the steam. Hot enough to rise welts and burn off skin. He stood there for a few seconds, melting, then turned the water all the way down to ice cold. He turned from red to blue in a few seconds, his body going numb. He didn't have any shampoo, he kept forgetting to buy some, so he improvised with soap. Not that it mattered what his hair looked like. Greg went for the same type of shower every day, took pleasure in the burning and freezing water. He wasn't sure why, it was just something he did. Routine was pretty much all Greg had now, so he was sure to stick to it. Greg always went for those showers, because he'd stopped feeling pain a long time ago. He'd stopped feeling anything.

He got to the lab and began to work immediantly. Grissom sent him to investigate an apparent suicide with Nick, who talked at him the whole way there. Greg let Nick go first. Of course. He wasn't allowed go in first, Nick had to go in first with his gun. Greg's had been taken off him. They didn't trust him with it. Of course, it wasn't a suicide. It had been staged. All over a money disagreement. They always were.

The team dragged him to the diner after shift and force-fed him breakfast. Or it could have been lunch. Or dinner. Or dessert. It could have been poison actually. Or else one of Grissom's wierd experiments that he kept in the fridge. Afterwards, Sara invited him for a drink but Greg said no. He headed to the casino and bet the money he seemed to be drowning in on a football game. He bet that the underdogs would win six nil. They did. Of course they did. Three hundred to one chance of them winning at all and they won by six goals. The casino owner gave Greg the money, which he accidentally doubled while playing blackjack. He bought himslef a few drinks, but the bartender seemed to feel sorry for him as he didn't charge him. Greg ended up stuffing some of the stupid money in a charity box, but he could hardly fit any in. So he walked home, with the stupid, useless, wastefull things in his pockets.

Greg had a lot of money. His family had been very well off, and his job paid pretty well. But money was nothing. It was suffocating him, drowning him, smothering him. He couldn't breathe. So many people had been killed over it, and yet it couldn't do anything. It couldn't bring her back. He wished he really couldn't breathe. All of Greg's attempts to permanently stop his heartbeat had failed, being interupted by Nick, Sara, Warrick or Grissom visitng him, or his mother ringing him, or the phone calls the P.D. kept getting, which would give Greg hope for a few hours. It never came to anything. These possible sightings and reported findings were either mistakes or some attention-seekers who ended up soending they year in lockup for wasting police time. That, and the fact that Nick had come round to his ouse and taken all his knives, sharp objects and any medication stronger than aspirin. They also put locks on his windows. So now he was overheating. And alive. He wasn't sure which one was worse.

When Greg got home he poured some tequila into a measuring cup. Every other utesil was in his sink, and would be until Sunday, the day that Sara came over. He then put the bottle into his cupboard, wondering how to keep it safe from Warrick, who came on Thursdays to confiscate any non-regulations items, e.g. alcohol, meds and any new devices that could be used in suicide. Greg checked the calendar. It was a Monday. Damn. He had to go to that guidence counsellor Grissom dragged him to once a week tomorrow. And then Nick's latest adventure on Saturday. He wondered what it would be? Probably football or something. And he could expect a call from his mom on Wednesday, and to be expected to exercise his social skills with some of the lab rats on Friday. This was Greg's typical week. That wasn't why he went to the calendar though. He went to cross of another box. Monday the 26th of February. The 57th day of the year. It was an anniversary too. Every day was. Greg opened up the journal his stupid psychiatrist had adivsed him to keep.

_Tuesday, 26th of February_

_ Dear diary,_

_ Today I got up, ate, went for a shower, went to work. After work I went to a casino and then came home._

Then he closed the stupid book again. He really should print that onto one of those ink stamp things, it was almost exactly what he said every other day. Greg poured himself another drink. Then he remembered something. He opened up the plastic covered book, and wrote at the end of his message:

_It has been two years, one month and seventeen days since I last saw Catherine._

**Review if you want more!**_  
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	2. Together

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**OK, chapter two! This one goes back to the past, two years (and a bit) before the first chapter. This is a few weeks after the final chapter of Don't You Want Me. Hope you like it! Thanks C.H.W.13 for reviewing, hope you like this next chapter!**

_And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?_

_For me it happens all the time._

* * *

"Ms Willows, what is your relationship to the accused?" Joan Dean, the prosecutuion attorney asked her witness.

"He was my boss. Twenty years ago." Catherine replied.

"Where did you work?"

"In one of his nightclubs. I was a dancer and a cocktail waitress."

"Was the accused nice to you?"

"At first." She said, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

"Did something bad happen?"

"He started abusing me when I'd been wporking there a month." Catherine stuttered.

"Did you ever show any romantic interest in him?"

"No."

"How long did this last?"

"I worked there for eight years. The whole time." Catherine told the attorney, her voice strained.

"Did Grant ever ask you out on a date?"

"No." she managed to choke out eventually.

"Did he ever discuss marriage?"

"No." what was wrong with her, she'd practised these questions a hundred times.

"Did he love you?"

"No." she sobbed.

"Objection!" Karl Metz yelled, standing up.

"On what grounds?" The judge asked.

"The witness had no idea what my client feels!" Metz responded.

"Withdrawn." Joan Dean sighed. It was best not to argue with Metz about something so trivial.

* * *

_Karl Metz was a shark. _Greg thought. _Like the one in that movie, except he didn't actually kill people. He just helped the ones who did get away with it. _Thinking about sharks, he hadn't watched Jaws in ages. Maybe he could trick Lindsey into watching it with him by putting it in the box of one of her rom-coms. Catherine wouldn't fall for it unfortuantely. He'd played that trick one too many times.

"No further questions your honour." The prosecution lawyer nodded toward the judge.

"Alright, you may take your seats. This court stands in recess until twelve o clock tomorrow." Then she hit her woodedn hammer onto the table.

_That would make a really good crime case. A judge kills somebody because he knows he's guilty but since th_e _CSI's can't prove it, God forbid, he can't convict him. So he kills the guy himself, and the hammer is the murder weapon. Nobody would ven think to check it for blood. They could make a whole movie out of it. And after the guy's dead, the judge would hit him on the head once more and go "Case closed." I would so pay to watch that. How would I trick the others into going to see it? I could..._

He was interupted from his scheming by Catherine coming over to see him.

"Hey." she said, with a small smile.

"Hey, you were great." Greg said, hugging her.

"I was nearly crying, and I haven't even discussed Lindsey or the actual shooting yet."

"Cat, you are one of the strongest people I know. Crying every once in a while isn't a problem."

"Catherine." she reminded him.

"Sorry, I keep forgetting."

"It's alright. You ready for tomorrow?" She asked him, ruffling his hair absent-mindedly.

"No. I'm dreading being put on the stand."

"Sadly, it's kind of neccessary."

"I never used to understand why those people who escape from crime scenes don't want to talk to cops." Greg told her, as they headed out through the big wooden double doors.

"Me neither. I used to wish they'd just help us find the person who hurt them."

"Yeah. Now it makes sense though." Greg said, sighing. Catherine sensed that they needed to change the subject.

"You are going to wear a suit tomorrow right?" Catherine asked him, fingering the blue t-shirt that read Save Water, Drink Wine.

"Do I have to?" Greg whined.

"Uhm...yes." Catherine told him, looking around the car park for Greg's highly fashionable yet entirely inpractical sports car.

"But... then I'll be really uncomfortable, which will make me look uneasy, so the jury will think I'm suspicous." Greg insisted, clicking his car keys in no particular direction until he heard a click.

"Greg, nobody is going to..." Catherine began. But he wasn't finished.

"And then they'll think I'm lying, so they'll get Ecklie to investigate the crime scene again. And he hates me, so he'll twist the evidence, then the jury will think I tried to kill you but accidentally shot myself,"

"Greg..."

"And then they'll arrest me for some terrorist attack that happened thirty years ago because they need a fall guy, so I'll be put on death row. Then you'll have to re-evaluate every one of my cases..."

"We won't have to..."

"And because you don't get it done fast enough, they'll fire you. So you'll have no money, so you'll starve to death. And I'll be executed. So you see, I cant wear a suit." Greg concluded, smiling smugly.

"That is the strangest story I've ever heard. And you're wearing a suit." Catherine told him, getting into the passenger seat.

"Didn't you hear what I just said? Me wearing a suit puts both of us in a life-threatening situation. Do you want to die?" Greg asked, taking the seat next to her.

"If you don't wear a suit, you won't look professional, so the jury won't take you seriously, so Grant won't be convicted so he'll kill both of us as revenge." she retorted.

"That's a little far-fetched, don't you think?" Greg asked, sighing at her.

"Just wear a suit." she told him, rolling her eyes.

"But, looking at our stories, I'm going to die either way. I'd rather die in a comfortable pair of jeans and a hawaiin shirt than a tie, a shirt so stiff I can't move and pants with a fold in them."

"Under no circumstances are you wearing a Hawaiin shirt to your funeral. And you forgot the jacket and shiny shoes."

"Okay, the shiny shoes I can deal with." Greg shrugged.

"You like shiny shoes?" Catherine asked him.

"I like being able to see my own reflection in my shoes. Please don't tell Nick and Warrick." he begged.

"I won't. As long as you wear a suit to court tomorrow." Catherine said slyly.

"Catherine..."

"I think you look sexy in your suit." she whispered.

"Fine then. I'll pick it up from the dry cleaners tonight." he sighed. Catherine tried to hold back a smile. Works every time.

"When did you drop it off?" Catherine asked him, suddenly aware of the fact that they had been sitting in the car for several minutes now and hadn't yet started driving.

"A few years ago...after a wedding." Greg said absent-mindedly, putting the keys in the ignition.

"Greg! There's no way they're still going to have that." Catherine said indignantly, putting on her seatbelt.

"Serious?" Greg asked, buckling up as well.

"Yeah. After a few months they send it to a charity shop." sje informed him.

"Ooops. No suit then." he shrugged, smiling smugly.

"It's alright. We'll go shopping." Catherine told him. Greg's facial expression immediantly changed.

"No...I'll do anything..." he began to beg.

"Sorry Greggo." she sighed.

"Please!"

"Come on."

"HELP! Help me somebody! This woman is going to torture me!" He started to yell out the windows to the passers by.

Luckily, everyone was too busy with their own lives to pay much attention to the guy with the spiky hair yelling out his window.

Greg grinned as Catherine pulled his head back into the car.

"Shut up." she told him.

"You know you love me." he teased.

"Yeah. I do." she whispered, suddenly serious.

"I love you too Cath." it was the first time he'd ever said those words to a girl. He din't feel scared though, he didn't feel worried or frightened or trapped. He felt free. He felt happy. He felt in love.

"If you weren't driving right now, I would kiss you."

"Now I'm going to speed the whole way home."

"Perfect."

**Haha, pretty different from the first chapter, isn't it? Anyways, click the review button and tell me what you think!**


	3. Somewhere in between

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**Thanks josiegrace and csicharlie for reviewing!**

**Okay, this is set in the present, the day after chapter one. I have a random and sort of pointless conversation here between Nick and Sara, but I needed a filler and it should give you an idea of how the others are reacting to what happened. There will be little to no mentions of Warrick in thois story, because I hate him. Sorry! Also, This is still A.U. so everything that happens in CSI didn't neccesarily happen here. The smart people among you will be figuring out that this is season eight, but ther's no miniature killer, nobody gets kidnapped, and nobody had a burn out and leaves CSI. There also isn't really any GSR, or if there is it will just be a small reference. Review please!**

_It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now._

_Said I wouldn't call but I've lost all control and I need you now._

* * *

His phone was ringing. He picked it up and looked at caller ID. It wasn't her. It never was.

"Hello?"

"Greg, it's Grissom. We have another sighting."

"I'm on my way."

Greg got changed into whatever it was Sara had left on top of the pile. He didn't really see it.

Greg drove to the lab quickly, and ran all the way to Grissom's office. He probably knocked a few people over, but he didn't feel anything.

"Where?"

"New York."

"New York City?"

"Yes."

"Are the cops looking into it?"

"Yes."

"It probably won't be anything."

"You see, it wasn't her they saw."

"Who was it?"

"Lindsey."

"Kids change a lot. It's been two years."

"You know we had Archie make out a picture of what she'd look like now a few monthas ago."

"But still. Those things aren't accuarate. Especially for a child."

"That wasn't all."

"What else?"

"She was with Grant."

"Grant?"

"Yes, Grant, Catherines old boss."

"How did I not think of this sooner?"

"Greg, it's okay, nobody expects you to..."

"I should have known he'd come after her."

"It doesn't matter now. All that matters is that we find her."

"I'm going to New York."

"Of course you are. Nick and Sara are coming too."

"Aren't you..."

"I have to stay here Greg. I'm supervisor. And Warrick's going to stay too. Swing shift will help us out."

"Alright then."

"And we're sending Detective Vega with you."

"Okay then."

"Good luck Greg."

"Thanks."

* * *

For the most part, Greg had liked being a CSI. It meant he got to see more of Catherine, which was great. He was more respected, which was also great. The job was exciting and challenging, that was great too. He had to stop spiking his hair, and Catherine made him wear button downs, jumpers and starched, pressed shirts, that was bad. He missed some of his lab rat friends, also bad. And also, sometimes he hated the things he had to see. Now none of those things mattered to him.

He certainly didn't get to see Catherine, didn't really care about what people thought of him anymore, and nothing was really exciting to Greg these days. Greg didn't even blow dry his hair anymore, he hadn't had it cut or dyed in two years. Sara washed, dried and ironed his clothes and stacked them in neat piles for him when she came over, and Warrick's wife Tina bought him new stuff when he ran out. It didn't really matter what he looked like. Greg didn't miss any of the lab rats now, the only person he missed was Catherine. And even that hurt less and less every day. Also, Greg didn't care what he saw. Decapitation, torture, blood all over the walls. Sexual assault, hate crimes, people chopped up so tiny you couldn't even attempt putting them back togeher. He saw people who'd had there skin peeled off, their hair pulled out, their eyes punched into their skull. Greg saw murder after murder after murder, but none of the people meant anything to him. No matter how upset their families were, how devastated their friends were, how much of a loss to society they would be, Greg stayed detatched. These bodies, they remained nameless, faceless, souless beings. They were dead. They hadn't gone t heaven, they hadn't gone to hell. Greg knew better than to believe these things. They were just nothing.

Greg had a lot in common with them.

It was worse than when she was on drugs. Worse than when they were fighting. It was worse than those few years when he didn't see her. It was worse than the three years when they simply worked together, coworkers, aquaintences, but nothing more. It was worse than all of that. At least when she was on drugs, he could help her. At least when they were fighting, he could make it up to her. At least when he didn't see her, she was still paying him back for the house, so he knew she was out there. At least for those three years he could watch her, protect her, think that she was happy. Now he couldn't do anything. She was literally gone. Gone from him. Greg didn't even pretend to be happy. He didn't pretend to be sad. He wasn't sad. He wasn't anything.

* * *

Sara and Nick watched Greg, sitting in the chair in the break room, drinking his coffee. They pretended they hadn't noticed it when he poured something from a silver bottle into it.

"What happened to Greggo?" Nick asked her.

"He lost the person he loved without any explanation. What would you do?"

"I don't know. I just wish he would let us in."

"He doesn't care what happenes anymore, does he?"

"No. It's like he's existing, but not really living."

"We have to find her." Sara said.

"Yeah." Nick agreed.

"We will find her." Sara added.

"She wouldn't leave Lindsey." Nick agreed.

"Yes. Wherever her daughter is, that's where she'll be."

"Funny."

"What's funny?"

"That's what we used to say about her and Greg." Nick said. It was true, they'd always been together. Wherever one went the other would follow. Not anymore.

"I remember."

"We used to have to yell at them to get a room, remember?"

"All too well. Remember that time they started making out over a dead body?"

"Yes."

"I wish they would still do that now."

"Do you ever think it would be better for him just to find her body?" Nick asked.

"You mean...dead?"

"Yeah. I know it's an awful thing to think and I don't want her to be dead, but would it at least give him some closure?"

"I don't know. Do you not think the emtions would push him over the egde, once and for all?" Sara wondered.

"What emotions? He doesn't even feel anything these days, Sar."

"I suppose. We might have to send him to one of those places Ecklie recommended after he first tried to take his own life."

Sara shivered just remembering it. The knife sticking into his chest. The pool of blood he was lying in. One look at Nick and she knew he was remembering it too.

"We almost lost him." Nick said.

"We would've, if he'd remembered which side his heart was on." Sara remembered.

"For a scientist, he knew surprisingly little about human biology." Nick added.

The two of them laughed, despite the situation. It was a dry laugh, no happiness or real amusment.

"I don't want Greg to have to go to an asylum." Sara told him.

"He won't. We can take care of him." Nick insisted.

"Sometimes I hate her for doing this to him." Sara said suddenly.

"She might not have had a choice." Nick reasoned.

"If it was me, if it was someone I loved, I wouldn't ever give up. I wouldn't ever stop trying to escape, or trying to send a message."

"Who says she'd given up?"

"They saw Lindsey eating ice-cream with Grant. They were just coming out of the cinema after seeing the new Barbie-princess-movie-thing. She was singing and skipping and wearing designer jeans and those shoes that light up."

"I know, I saw the video."

"Then tell me Nick, tell me this. Her daughter was eight at the time, that's old enough to remember. Did she look like somebody who'd lost her mum?"

"No."

"Somebody who was being held captive?"

"No."

"A normal, happy girl in a normal, happy family."

"Yes."

"So yes, I think she has given up."

"You don't think she was kidnapped?"

"No."

"She hated Grant, was so mad at him for what he used to do to her, and she LOVED Greg, Sara."

"But Grant is rich. He was the father of her child, that had to mean something to her. And maybe she liked it, to some extent."

"I still don't think she would..."

"What does Grissom always say?"

"Victim, suspect, crime scene?" Nick guessed.

"The evidence never lies." She told him.

"Right." he nodded.

"You gotta look at the evidence, Nick. See what it's telling you."

He didn't want to do that. He didn't like what it was telling him. And he bet Greg liked it even less.

* * *

Sara and Nick had packed for him. They took turns sitting next to him on the plane. Sara sat next to him from Vegas to Nebraska, and Nick sat next to Vega, then they swapped for Nebraska to New York. When they finally arrived there, Greg had refused to play cards six times, denied helping somebody with a crossword or sodoku four times, declined food or drink nine times and said "I'm fine." too many times to count. A part of Greg was feeling hopefull. He'd talked to Vega and even though they didn't have any location for them, it was likely that Grant and Lindsey were still in New York. If that was them. They still weren't a hundred percent certain, as the video had been too blurry to get a facial recognition comparison thing, they didn't get a great shot of Grant, and like tGreg had said, it was hard to tell with childern. Greg was still very hopefull though. And very glad that tourist had seen her picture in the news and decided to take a video of these two before calling the cops. Sadly, he'd called too late for them to find the guy, as they didn't really have any need to hurry. In a big city like New York, crime rates were almost as high as Vegas, and the cops were too busy rushing to stop murders and attacks and robberies to run after what might be a missing girl from Vegas. Grant didn't even have a record, so he wasn't even assumed dangerous, and they hadn't even known it was him until they'd sent the video back to Vegas. It was also a pity that the guy hadn't followed these people, but still, he had a video and that was something. Greg felt like his leg used to feel when he'd been sitting on it and it had gone numb. Every time he'd try walking it off, his whole legg would go all tingly. "Pins og naler" his Papa Olaf had called it.

Well, that was what Greg felt like now. He'd been numb for so long, that finally in the car coming home, he started to feel tingly. It wasn't excitment and it wasn't needing to use the restroom. It was slowly beginning to feel something again. Slowly coming out of him emotionless state. Slowly, but surely.

Greg was glad to have his feelings back. He felt excited, hopefull, optimistic. He didn't know that these feeling were going to turn around and bite him soon. He didn't know that within a week, he would wish he was still numb. He didn't know that pretty soon, his heart would be broken all over again.

**Hope you like it, review! And btw, "Pins og naler" is Norweigan. (His Papa Olaf was from Norway.) Translate it if you want to know what it means!**


	4. Refresh my memory

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**Ok, this chapter is set in the past, a month after chapter two. I am overjoyed by the amount of people who have reviewed this story, so thank you all of you!**

_And I don't know how I can do without._

_I just need you now._

* * *

Grant Eastwood did not look good in orange. He looked good in well-fitting suit trousers. He looked good in crisp, baby blue shirts. He looked good in striped blazers. He looked good in royal blue silk ties. He looked good in navy shoes, so polished that they reflected any light and shone it outwards like a flashlight. Grant did not look good in orange jumpsuits. He looked good in gold wristwatches, not silver handcuffs. He looked good with a clean shave and proffesionally blow-dried hair. He didn't look good with stubble and grey hairs. In other words, Grant Eastwood was not looking so hot right now.

The prison officer led him to the interview room. He passed all the other prisoners, talking to family, friends or lawyers on the phone. A man was being restrained by the officers. The person at the other side was yelling something at him. Another man wwas crying, his hands pressed up against the glass, plam to plam with a woman on the other side, also crying. Grant didn't care about them. He made his way to the booth where his lawyer sat, dressed the way Grant used to dress. Before the whole jumpsuit thing. He sat down and picked up the black telephone. His lawyer did the same.

"Hello Grant." the lawyer greeted.

"Karl." he replied.

"How've you being holding up?"

"Not so good. Have you gotten bail or not?" garnt asked, not wanting to beat around the bush.

"I'm sorry, but the judge and attorneys declined all requests at bail."

"What did you do? You're my lawyer, you can't just..."

"Several counts of rape and abuse, then attempted murder? Judges generally don't like that."

"Are you gonna get me out of here or not?" he asked, gritting his teeth.

"Yes. It just might take a little bit longer than planned." he smiled evilly.

"What's your strategy?"

"I can't tell you that."

"What do you mean, you can't tell me?"

"Not with all these recording deivces and cameras."

"Write it down and slip it under the glass."

"Alright."

Karl Metz took a pen from his suit pocket and began to write on a piece of paper from his briefcase. Grant tried to read it as he wrote, but the lawyer covered the note with his arm. An agonising three minutes later, Karl slipped the paper under the glass to his client. Grant Eastwood read the note. Then he read it again. He looked up at his lawyer, and began to laugh. His lawyer laughed too. They laughed for a while.

* * *

"He's denying everything?" Catherine repeated, shocked.

"Yeah. The assualt, the rape, the shooting." Greg confirmed.

"We know he shot you." Catherine said, still confused.

"He's saying it was you." Greg told her.

"Me?" now she really didn't believe what she was hearing.

"Listen, nobody will believe it Cat, it's okay." he said, passing her Karl Metz's report.

"Catherine." she reminded him.

"Sorry. Nobody's going to listen to him." he insisted.

"He ran away. By the time they found him trying to cross the border, they were too late to do a GSR test."

"Yes, but..."

"He wiped his prints off the gun." she remembered.

"Listen to me Catherine. Why did he run away?" Greg asked her, lifting her chin so she was looking him in the eyes.

"It makes perfect sense, he was running from me in case I shot him as well." she told him, looking back down at the report.

"Why would I be lying about my attacker?" Greg challenged.

"What?" she asked, looking up again.

"Surely I'd want whoever shot me to go down?" he reasoned.

"Who knows, maybe I'm threatening you. Or maybe we both have something agaisnt Grant so we set this whole thing up to frame him." she insisted.

"You're thinking into this too much. I only told you so you wouldn't be shocked tomorrow in court when..."He began, his voice faltering.

"When what?" she asked.

"Catherine, the defencse is going to tear you apart." he told her sadly. "They're going to find everything, look under every rock. Karl Metz has been digging up dirt on you since Grant was arrested, he's not going to spare your feelings. He's not going to care about your feelings. I just want you to be ready, to be prepared. And remember that no matter what he says, it doesn't change anything. It doesn't change the way I feel about you."

"What would I do without you?" Catherine asked, pulling herself into his arms.

"Let's just hope you never have to know." he whispered softly into her hair.

* * *

Greg sat on one of the wooden benches outside. He wasn't allowed to be in the courtroom, he was scheduled to testify in twenty minutes. He could hear the low drone of Metz voice coming from the next room, but he couldn't make out what he was saying. There were breaks in the speech, probably where Catherine was talking, but her voice was too soft to hear. Every now and then, he would hear an excitment, low babbling and rambling voices, probably the reporters, jury and memebers of the public. Occasionally he'd hear gasps too. Once or twice the judge had to bang her hammer off the stand and demand order. He hoped Catherine was okay, but he knew she wasn't. He knew she'd be pretty shaken after the trial.

He felt a warm hand on his, and he looked over to see Sara, biting her lip. She was also scheduled to testify, being the lead CSI on the case. Next to her, Dr. Robbins was playing with his crutch, and a few officers were whispering over their polstyrene cups. Greg made a half-hearted attempt at a smile, and Sara responded with a forced smile of her own.

"It's gonna be okay." she whispered, squeezing his hand.

"I hope so." he whispered back.

"Greg Sanders?" the court clerk called.

"Yeah. That's me." Greg said nevously, standing up.

"You're up." he told him.

"Okay." Greg said.

"Relax, you'll do fine." Sara told him.

"Thanks." He nodded.

"Greg?" she asked.

"Yeah?"

"You gotta let go of my hand."

"Sorry." he said, releasing Sara's hand and moving towards the door that led to the courtroom.

"Good luck." she called.

"I'll need it." he said under his breath, walking through the big double doors.

Greg gave his practised testimony to Joan Dean, the prosecution lawyer. He outlines, just as they had agreed, the truth. He saw Catherine and Grant arguing, when he saw the gun he ran forward and jumped in front of the gun. He didn not hear the conversation, did not know prior to going outside tht Catherine was there. Then it was time for cross-examination.

"Mr Metz, do you wish to cross examine the witness?"

"Damn right I do."

Greg gulped. Joan had warned him toi expect this, but he'd still hoped he wouldn't have to say anything to Metz.

"Mr Sanders, what is your realationship to Ms Willows, or shall I call her Ms Flynn?"

"Catherine and I have been dating for nearly two months now."

"Yes, yes we all know that. What I want to know is, what was your relationship to her eight years ago?"

"Objection! Relevacne?"

"I'll allow it for now."

"Thank you judge. Now answer the question."

"I met her at a nightclub."

"The French Palace?"

"Yes."

"What was Ms Willows doing at the time?"

"She was dancing."

"Was there a pole in close proximity to where she was dancing?"

"Yes."

"Now, tell me Mr Sanders, what was Ms Willows wearing when you met her?"

"Objection! This has nothing to do wtih the shooting, which is what we're supposed to be investigating."

"Mr Metz?"

"Withdrawn. So, after you met her, did you two go out for dinner?"

"No."

"Where did you spend your first date?"

"I drive her home to her flat."

"And you dropped her off?"

"No."

"So, you'd known this woman, how long? And you went up to her apartment."

"We were going to go for a drink after her shift, but when I went out to meet her, Grant Eastwood was attempting to rape her. She was shaken up after the whole thing, so I stayed with her."

"So you are saying that you didn't kiss her?"

"No."

"And the whole time, you were both full clothed?"

"No."

"Ah."

For a minute, Greg thought he was done, Greg thought he was finished with him. But Metz continued speaking.

"Was Ms Willows sober at the time?"

"No."

"Did you see alcohol in her home?"

"Yes."

"What alcohol? Be specifific."

"I saw wine. And tequila, whiskey, rum and gin."

"Was Ms Willows under the influence of any medication at the time?"

"I don't think so."

"Did you witness Ms Willows under the influence of legal, or illegal drugs at any time?"

"Yes."

"When, and what drugs?"

"One night she called me, she was paranoid. I found out she got insomnia after taking...cocaine."

"Was this all?"

"No. Another night she called me again, and she was high."

"High on what?"

"Mrijuana."

"Were you aware of any other drugs she used?"

"She used to take halucogenic mushrooms. And the cocaine and marijuana. She also had a cupboard of other pills."

"What other pills?"

"Valium. Ecstacy. Lots of painkillers."

"Were these perscribed to her?"

"No."

"Did you see Ms Willows daughter, Lindsey?"

"Yes."

"How was she?"

"Not so good."

"Define, 'not so good' please."

"She was crying, her clothes were dirty, she hadn't been washed or changed in a while."

"Was anybody there to look after her while Ms Willows was out?"

"What did Ms Willows do with the crying child?"

"She...um... gave her sedatives."

"So it would be fair to say that she was not a good mtoher?"

"Objection! Leading."

"Yes, Metz. You're treading on a very fine line here."

"Another question Mr Sanders, how old was Ms Willows when you met her?"

"Twenty seven."

"And you were?"

"Nearly twenty two."

"Interesting."

"Were you aware that Ms Willows used to have a bet with her friends?"

"I don't remember her saying anything."

"Ms Willows and three of her coworkers used to pay each other ten dollars every time they slept with somebody."

"Objection! This has no relevance whatsoever..."

"Your Honour, I am simply trying to prove that Ms Willows is not be trusted."

"I'll allow it for now. But be careful."

"Where you aware that Ms Willows once recieved two hundred dollars in one week from her friends?"

"No."

"Now, on the seventeenth of May, eight years ago, Ms Willows was paid ten dollars. Can you tell us what happened on that day"?

"It was the first time Catherine and I slept together."

"So what makes you think you're any different from all the other woman Catherine has slept with?"

"Catherine did some things when she was younger. But that was eight years ago."

"You're saying she's different now?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"She's a wondeful mother, a brilliant crime scene investigator, and a wonderful girlfriend."

"Did you know that just a month ago she was picked up by police for driving while inder the influence?"

"No."

"She wasn't arrested because of her invovlment with the LVPD. Did she tell you about this?"

"No."

"If this were a case you were investigating, and you found out that a mother had been driving under the influence while her daughter was at home, alone, what would you do?"

"It depends on the situation if..."

"What is the procedure?"

"To arrest the mother for neglect."

"No further questions."

Greg walked back down to the benches. He was allowed to watch the rest of the trial after his statement. Catherine looked at him, her face stained with tear streaks.

"Greg, I'm sorry, I..."

Greg willed himself to put his arms around her, to tell her that it was alright, that everything would be okay. But he couldn't.

**Just figured out what R&R means, read and review! So yeah, R&R!**


	5. Hope

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed this, C.H.W.13, I am considering writing a story like that now, I love it when law enforcment are suspects in a case. Once I've finished Spring Break With The Lab Rats, I'll start writing that story and see if it works out!**

**This chapter is in the future, you get it by now...**

_Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door.  
Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before._

* * *

According to Sara the hotel was nice. According to Vega, the food was good. According to Nick, it was snowing. He believed them. But his mind was on other things. The winter weather made it harder to find her, as it was unexpected, meaning several places were unprepared and didn't have time to snow shovel their shops. Pretty much everything was closed and most people were indoors to avoid the freezing temperatures and the ice on the ground. They were basically just walking around, passing out pictures to the odd random passer by. None of them had seen her.

"No. I ain't seen thaa woman."

"What about this child?" Nick asked.

"No. But I seen tha man in the photo wif her."

"Grant Eastwood?" Nick checked, looking at the screenshot from the video of Lindsey.

"No man, that's Gregory Sandson."

"Gregory Sandson?" Nick was confused.

"Yeah. Owns some half-assed club in the bad side of town."

"What's the club called?" He asked.

"The Italian Palace or somefin. Listen to me, I ain't done nothing wrong."

"No. Quite the opposite." Nick smiled.

* * *

Greg got the call from Nick a few minutes later. Sara was going to the NYPD crime lab to run records for Gregory Sandson. He agreed to meet Nick, Vega, and a few NY cops at the club. He couldn't believe that bastard had taken his name. Well, kind of. Still, why him? Obviously he needed an alias since nobody was going to go to the club of a suspected murderer, but what ever happened to Peter or Fred or Mat? Why did he have to steal something else from Greg? Didn't he have enough already? He drove fast, running a few red lights, but it was New York City, and that was how everyone drove. Greg was lucky the roads had been treated, or else he would have been sliding into the walls a few times. He pulled up to the club, where Nick was already waiting with Vega. Some officers ran out just as Greg walked up to meet them.

"The building is clear." the cop told him.

"Thank you." Vega nodded at him.

"The Italian Palace."

"Doesn't look much different to the decor at the French Palace. Same curtains, loads of stagelights, jukebox, red velvet stools at the bar, neon signs, fish tank. He even found more turquoise sofas."

"Woah man, you know this place pretty well."

"I spent a lot of my college time there."

"Right."

Greg didn't want to tell Nick the truth. He didn't want to tell him that he went to the French palalce every day, hoping to see Catherine there. He never did though, just more and more tanned girls with wigs and too much make-up. The girls Greg had once thought were hot. The girls who seemed to get younger by the day.

"This is definately Grant's place." Greg said, looking around for any hint of where Catherine might be.

"I got a business license." Vega called, beckoning Nick over to the pillar where the framed license hung proudly.

"Gregory Sandston" Nick read. "Unbelievable, man, nobody suspsected a thing about thig guy."

Then a phone started to ring.

"It's probably Sara." Nick said, flipping his phone open.

"Hello?" Nick said into his phone.

"Yep."

"No, we're at the club right now."

"Definately."

"Sure."

"Alright."

"That's okay. See you later Sara."

"Bye." He hung up.

"Well?" Greg asked.

"This guy Gregory Sandson has no record so theres adress for him in the system. But he's been suspected of dealing drugs a few times." Nick told him.

"So the cops know where his house is?" Greg was hopefull. Hope, a new emotion.

"Yeah they do. Sara's gonna text it to me." Nick nodded, opening up the text.

* * *

The car ride to the apartment block was fairly short. They passed by lots of falling down houses and apartments with paint peeling off them. Several guys dressed in hoods and girls dressed in hardly anything ran away when they saw the car. There were a lot of alleys. Greg eventually decided to look away. They pulled up outside an apartment building.

"We get called here at least twice a week." one of the cops told them.

That made sense. Grant had had to start all over again when he moved out here, he could only afford a place in the bad side of town.

"NYPD open up." An officer yelled, knocking on the door.

"Open up!" Vega shouted.

Nothing.

A little chinese lady was walking up to her apartment with a load of washing. Greg felt bad for her, these apartments must be pretty crap if they didn't have washing machines. That was the problem with America. Rich people, poor people. The lady was carrying a baby in the clothes basket, and three other children were clinging onto her. All were wailing.

"You look-eeng for dee man?"

"Yes. Grant Eastwood. Or as he might have told you, Gregory Sandson." Vega told her, showing a picture.

"I no talk too heem. But hee gone."

"He's gone where? Shopping? To a ball game? Or gone for good?" Vega asked, taking out a pen.

"For good. Left keeys on desk in middrrre of night. Gone."

"Thank you ma'm." Vega sighed, writing a few things down in his notebook.

"A dead end." Nick sighed.

But Greg didn't want to believe that.

* * *

Greg ate alone. Nick, Sara and Vega were downstairs in the restraunt but Greg wanted to be by himself. He needed to think, and he didn't want to have to talk. Greg hated to admit it, but he didn't believe Catherine was alive. He was hopeful, he wished that things were different, but as a rule, kidnap victims were dead within two days. And it had been two was interupted by a knock on the door.

"I'm not here." he yelled.

"Greg. Open up." the voice said. So, groaning loudly, he toddled over to the door and opened it.

"Sara."

"Come on, let's go for a walk." she said, beckonign him out into the hallway.

"I'm busy." Greg told her, moving to shut the door. But she stuck her foot in the hinge and pulled his arm.

"Some fresh air will do you good."

"Fine." he sighed, realising she was never going to go away. They walked in comfortable silence for three block, past the noisy icty and into a residential area.

"Do you think we're going to find her?" Greg asked eventually.

"Greg, sometimes it's.." Sara began carefully, but he interupted her.

"Do you think we're going to find her?" he repeated.

"No." she admitted.

"Me neither." Greg whispered.

"Greg, you have to move on." Sara said, putting her hand on his arm.

"But I can't." he insisted.

"You have to let her go." Sara pleaded.

"Sara, I love her. What if it was you?" Greg asked.

"I don't know. But if it was me, I'd be happy if somebody tried to help me."

"I don't need help, I need Cat. Catherine." he corrected himself.

"Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. I guess you'll never know. But you can't let this control you. Greg, you have loats of freinds who care about you. And we miss Greg, we want him back."

"So do I. But it's like I can't find him anymore. I don't know where he's gone."

"He's there Greg. You just have to look for him."

"I just wish I had something. Even some closure. Anything."

"You have the memories. Hold onto those."

"People change, memories don't." he smiled.

"Exactly." Sara smiled back.

"Woah, watch out." Greg called, a postman was walking right towards an icy puddle.

He yelled too late and the man slipped, catching a fence just in time, but dropping all the letters and parcels he was carrying.

"You alright?" Sara asked as she and Greg jogged across the street to see him.

"Yeah, I'm okay." The man replied, dusting invisible mud off his trousers.

"Roads are slippy." Greg told him.

"Uh-huh." The man nodded, inspecting a parcel that had been ripped. Greg ran to get some of the letters blowing away. What he saw shocked him.

"Sara?" he called.

"Yes?" she replied, handing some letters to the postman.

"Will you help me pick up this envelope?" He asked.

"Em... alright." she looked confused, but came over anyway. She followed his finger and gasped too when she saw it. Greg wasn't sure what to do next, but Sara took the letter and walked back over to the man.

"Here you go sir." she smiled, giving all the envelopes he'd dropped.

"Thank you." the man nodded at them.

"Have a nice day." Sara called after him.

"You too." he replied. Greg was annoyed. How could Sara just let that chance get away?

"Quick follow him!" Sara whispered to Greg a minute later, once the postman was out of earshot.

They chased him for another block. Eventually he took the yellow envelope adressed to Gregory Sanderson and posted it into the letter box of a green house. They never would have found him there, it was a suburban estate, one in hundreds of houses. Judging by the boxes stacked outsidethe house, he'd just moved in. Somebody must have tipped him off that they were showing a photo of him and Lindsey in the city. He probably made a bit of money with his club and drug selling in the last two years, enough to save up for buying a house. He was aware of Sara calling Vega, Nick and the NY cops, but he didn't say anyhting. He was aware of an all-too familiar but not all-too welcome feeling. Hope.


	6. Or is it fate?

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**Sorry I haven't been writing this so much. I've been doing my Junior cert exams in school. I understand if you're feeling very neglected, but I promise, next thursday I will start updating regularly again.**

**Back to the past, a week after the last chapter. This is a sort of wierd chapter. It sort of goes backwards a little bit, and the last few paragraphs are more of the future than the past. It's just a filler chapter really. So please review!**

_And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?_

_For me it happens all the time._

* * *

"The jury finds Grant Eastwood not guilty for several counts of rape, abuse and attempted murder."

"Alright then Mr Eastwood, you are free to go. Case closed." the judge said, slamming the hammer on the stand.

"Are you serious?" Greg yelled standing up.

"I knew it." she whispered.

"Are they charging you?" he asked.

"No, obviously not." Catherine replied.

"So, what?"

"Nothing."

"How can there be nothing?"

"Greg, we've seen cases like this before."

"How?"

"We know he's lying, everybody does. But there's no proof."

"We both saw him!"

"They can't believe somebody like me."

"What do you mean, somebody like you? You're no worse than everybody else."

"I'm glad you think so."

"This isn't fair."

"Life isn't fair Greg. And remember you said whatever happens, it wouldn't change the way you felt about me?"

"Yes. Catherine, I wish you'd told me about the DUI. But it doesn't change anything."

"As long as that's true, everything is okay." she smiled.

"It's true. Just from now on, no more secrets?"

"Promise."

* * *

In a perfect world, smart, motivated people would work hardand do well in school. These people would go to college, graduate with honours and become doctors, teachers, scientists, austronauts, barristers. They would be good at their job and make a lot of money because of it. These people would get married, have children, live in beuatiful four bedroomed houses with gardens for the children and family pet dog to play in. In an even perfecter world, these people would alo be good at sports, love reading, cook brilliant food and sing beautifully. In the perfectest world imaginable these people would be nice too.

Sadly, the world wasn't perfect. It wasn't even close. In the world we live in, lazy, misbehaved children flunk algebra and chemistry. They get into college because their rich parents paid so much to get them in, but end up quitting after the first year. They open nightclubs or develop frozen dessert companies which although fairly basic ideas, go onto to become multi-billion dollar industries. Alternatively, these dumb, unmotivated, careless children posess some special talent, which they use to become famous and 'successfull.' Often these people aren't even nice. That is the unfairness of the world we live in. It's not perfect. In fact, it's anything but. And in this whole, unjust system we call life, you get people. Young, hopeful people with big dreams, big goals, high ambitions, high hopes. They think they can change the world. The world laughs at them as they set out, waiting to make their mark. Then it sucks thenm in, chews them up an spits them back out again. They are just kids, living life for the day, trying to make an honest living, believing they have the power to make a difference. The problem is these kids are too nice. In order to face the world you need to be strong, tough, ruthless, coldhearted. Only the people like that ever make it through. And sadly, only the people like that don't deserve it. Grant was one such person, rich, powerfull, unbelievably stupid. And yet he has control over every aspect of hi life. It was times like this that Greg was reminded of how un-perfect the world was. And how little he could do to change that.

* * *

Judge Peterson knew a criminal when she saw one. It was one of the things that made her so good at her job. So was her loud voice, her ability to mantain order and yes IQ of 142. There were several things however that did not make Ida Peterson a good judge. One was the fact that she held grudges. If anybidy every pissed her off, she would find it hard to every forgive them. This made it hard to remain impartial in a trial, if one was innocent yet annoying, it took a lot of strength to serve the correct verdict. It also meant she despised most of the lawyers. Lawyers thought they were better than everybody else, and were constantly pissing her off. She had a hard time getting over it. That was one of the things that made her not-so-good at her job. Also, Ida loved animals. She has seventeen cats at home and loved each of them to the point where she could never talk about anything else. Sure, Mr Tickles would sometimes bully Cuddles and Tinky-poo, but his heart was in the right place. And yes, Ginger and Tallulu dug up the geraniums she had to keep re-planting, and Rosalinda, Tiger and Spots were constantly getting sick on her furniture. It was true that Poppy, Stripy and Princess-Penelope always stole food from the new kittens Annie, Betty, Ce-ce, Dora, Ellie and Floe. But in the end, she loved every one of her cats dearly, more than she'd ever loved anyone else. Whenever any cat abuse or mistreating was brought up, in a simple suing over someone not taking the bins out, to insurance claims, to homicide, it didn't matter how minor, that person was going away for a long time. There was one other thing that made Ida Peterson not-so-good at her job. She took the envelope.

* * *

Bryon Bradley was Grant Eastwoods bodyguard. He soon became his right hand man, second in command, next in line. However, like so many other deputies Grant had hired and fired over the years, Bryon never wanted more. Never saw how easy it was to be just as rich and succesfull as Grant, or if he did he never pointed it out. He never complained at doing all the hard labour for a small cut of the profits made. He was happy being second in coomand. So Grant left in him carge, knowing his job, his money and even his deskcahir were safe with him. And Bryon knew exactly what he had to do. He adressed the envelope to Ms Ida Peterson. He used tap water to stick on the stamp and wore gloves when he wrote the letter. In case he had been wrong about her, he didn't want anyone to be able to trace it back to him.

The letter was pretty short, Bryon had never been good with words. It wasn't his literary skills that had gotten him the job as one of Vegas' best paid thugs. Bryon knew by now which chequebook to use. He was currently on book number one hundred and thirty four. This one belonged to a Raymond Matthews. Lovely. Bryon noticed they were running low on chequebooks. Only twenty one left and Grant didn't like to start repeating until the year after. No chequebook could be use twice in one year, because that might lead to somebodystarting to dig into it, and realising that there was no Raymond Matthews, or Chad Perry. No Anna Richmond or Pierre Le Bleu. There never was a Rachel Sandenlton, a Carlos Sanviego or a Madison Lou. And if there was, this sure as hell wasn't their chequebook. Every adress led back to the same place. The middle of the Nevada dessert. Every PIN number was made up, every contact detail fabricated, everything make believe. Bryon decided to make a bunch more IDs the next day, then go stock up on more fake chequebooks. For now though, he had business to do.

The letter was written, the letter was adressed, the letter was sent, the letter was recieved and the letter, unfortunately, was accepted.

* * *

Had Ida Peterson not accepted the generous gift in the envelope, had she called the cops instead, had she refused to be bribed in exchange for cash and reported the letter, things might have been very different. This story might not have even happened. Unfortunately, she did accept it. And so what happened happened. Had somebody warned Greg and Catherine of what was to happen, they would have tried to stop it. They wouldn't have been able to. As it was, nobody tols them, and they were not expecting a thing. There is a reason why nobody told them. There is a reason why Ida accepted the cheque. There is a reason why Grant walked free due to 'insubstantial evidence.' There is a reason the whole thing happened, and it is called fate. Fate decided to invtervene in the happy lives of Greg and Catherine, and once it did, things would never be the same again.


	7. The House

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own, nor will I ever own CSI**

**This is set in the future, still in New York, and it continues right from where the last chapter in the future ended. Hope you like it!**

_It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now._

_Said I wouldn't call but I've lost all control and I need you now._

* * *

Greg didn't want to wait for the cops. Sara had to hold him back as he desperately tried to run to Grant's house and start searching for Catherine.

"Let me go Sara!" he yelled, trying to break free of her vice like grip on him.

His bloodcurdling screams were attracting several curious glances out windows, and Sara realised it was very late. Late even in Vegas, but very late in New York. Grant was probably alsleep. Not that he would be for long, with Greg screaming like he was. Sara wrestled him onto the ground and sat on top of him, pinning two of his arms above his head with one of hers. She put her other hand over his mouth. Greg wriggleg excessively underneath her for a minute or so, but then he finally gave up.

Greg lay down limply and started to cry.

"I just miss her so damn much Sara... I need to..."

"Wait for the cops Greg." she insisted.

"Sara..." he protested.

"If you go in there now, he might kill you. If he hears you out here now, he might kill you. He might kill Catherine. Do you want Grant to kill Catherine?"

"Who says he hasn't already?" Greg sobbed back. "I just need to know."

"And you will know, when the cops get here."

"Let me up now?"

"No."

"You're surprisingly strong."

"Since the miniature killer, I've been taking self defense lessons."

"Oh."

"NYPD will be here soon Greg. Just hold on a little longer."

"Sara Sidle?"

Sara jumped at the sound of a male voice. An officer was standing beside them, with several more behind him.

"Yes. I'm the one who called you. That house." she said pointing.

"Let me up now Sara." Greg begged.

"Alright, but be careful." she told him, moving off him.

"We both know I won't be."

Sara got up, then stretched out a hand to pull Greg up. He took it, pulling himself up so hard he almost knocked Sara down. Once they were both up, they started to walk towards the big house, behind the cops. Greg glanced down, and realised they were still holding hands from when she'd pulled him up. Gregt realised he was unwilling to let go.

"NYPD, open up." an officer yelled, banging on the door.

Grant appeared at the door a few minutes later, a red tartan dressing gown tied loosely around him.

"Officers." he said politely. "How may I help?"

Two of the cops pulled him out of the house, and pushed him up against the wall. The others ran into his house, some went upstairs, some went down. Greg followed them, pulling Sara in with him.

"All clear." an officer told him.

"All clear?" Greg asked, shocked. "Where's Catherine and Lindsey?"

"Not here." the cop replied.

"Are you going to let Grant back into the house?" Sara asked.

"No, we found small stashes of marijuana, so we're taking him in for posession. Sorry."

"Officers, we're crime scene investigators, is it okay if we take a quick look around here?" Sara asked him, pulling her ID out of her wallet.

"Alright then, but make it quick." he told her.

"Thank you." she called back as he left.

Greg couldn't speak. He just watched the cops leave, watched Sara look around, all the while knowing it was hopeless.

"I've got blood." Sara replied, shining the ALS on where some blood had been washed away. Greg looked at the small puddle of flourescent blue, and sighed. Then he headed out back.

"Greg?" Sara called after him. "Where are you going?"

He didn't answer, so she followed him outside.

"He saw it on the news. Knew we were close to finding her. So he had to move, becaue those apartments didn't have a backyard."

"Greg..." Sara began, her voice trailing off. She knew exactly what he meant.

Greg started digging frantically, his hands clawing at the grass and soil beneath them.

"Greg, he's only been here two days, the grass wouldn't have grown back if he'd had to..."

But then she stopped, as Greg lifted up a giant piece of turf. Grant had cut it about ten centimetres down, then place it back on again after. Grunting as he lifted the heavy piece of ground, Greg moved it aside. Then there was a silence. There was no doubt about it. They were looking at a wooden lid. A cofin.

"Sara?" he whispered softly.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Will you open it? Tell me what's inside, I...I can't look."

So Sara took a deep breath and lifted the lid, her eyes closed.

The first thing that she noticed was the smell. Opening her eyes gingerly, Sara looked underneath the lid.

"Greg." she whispered, and she looked at him, hugging his knees, his eyes closed, rocking back and forth on the ground.

"Greg." she said again. "You're going to want to see this."

So he looked. He looked at a staircase. The first thing that hit him was confusion. Who puts a coffin lid in a staricase? But then he realised, it was just another piece of wood. His overactive imagination had turned it into a grave. Whatever he had down there though, he didn't want anyone to see.

"Come on." Sara said, taking his hand again and leading him down the metal staircase. It looked just like it smelled. Marijuana. This was where he was growing it, to be sold. Greg noticed lots of it was still in boxes, so he'd obviously moved it from wherever it was before only recently. Saly, there was nothing else. No Catherine, no Lindsey, no signs that they had ever been there. There was however, another door. Greg pushed it open, and saw a long, dark, eerily quiet tunnel. Dragging Sara behind him, they walked down the dark tunnel, Sara shining the ALS, which was the only source of light the officers had given her. Then tunnel led to another staircase, which led up into the house again. They found themselves in a small, windowless room, business papers regarding the sale of the marijuana, littered across the were also several newspaper clippings, recordings from television and radio and magazine entries, all about Catherine, ranging from missing person, to more desperate, frantic 'Have you seen this girl' notices. He had burned everytime she'd been talked about in the news for two years, which was every day for the first few months, then every birthday or anniversary since then. Same with the newspaper and magazine articles. There was always an extra few whenever there was a possible sighting, and the last week there had been more again, the video of Lindsey and Grant ad reports that LVPD was sending some guys to New York to look for her. Then there was a few videos of Greg himself, doing normal, everyday things, driving to work, buying orange juice, jogging, investigating crime cases, sitting on the corner of the street. Then there were several of the flyers Greg had handed out, some with scribbled notes from Bryon, or Thomas, Kevin or Sam. Obviously some of the people Greg had talked to hadn't been so oblivious after all to the wherabouts of Lindsey or Catherine, and had decided to inform Grant themselves that the cops were looking for him.

After looking at all of the stuff, Sara went to the door, not the one thay had came in, but the other one in the room. It was really heavy, she struggled to get it open, ad after she got to the other side, the living room they had previously looked in, and found blood, she realised why. There was a bookcase nailed to the door so it couldn't be seen from the living room.

"Greg?" she called, and he too came out and looked at the big door. "He has this whole place rigged. For somebody who's only lived here a few days, he sure works fast."

"They always do when they have secrets to protect." Greg answered.

"Let,s do another check of the house, this time, look everywhere." Sara told him, and he nodded.

Ten minutes later, a rug, in the downstairs study, was lifted to reveal another trap door, with another metal staircase. This time they could smell it as soon as they went down the first three steps. Decomp.

"Greg, I can look if you want. You can wait upstairs."

"I need to see." he replied. "Smells fresh, probably been dead less than a day."

"Yeah."

They climbed down the last two stairs and searched for a light in the pitch black room. Finding none, Sara turned on the ALS and shone it around. Suddenly she stopped.

"Dead body." she whispered.

Greg, trying to hold back tears, followed her. The body had been covered with a white sheet, which Sara lifted up.

It wasn't her. Greg was staring at the man he'd talked to on the street the other day, who'd ID'ed Grant as Gregory Sandson and told them where his nightclub was.

"Single gunshot wound to the chest." Sara told him. They looked around the rest of the room, nothing.

"Let's check the house again." Greg suggested, catching his breath again. It was the fourth time that day he'd thought he was just seconds away from seeing her again, and he was filled with a sense of relief that she wasn't in a coffin or under a sheet, and anger that they still hadn't found her.

Greg checked the T.V. room, and found a cupboard door, which when opened revealed a childs bedroom, pink and white striped bedsheets, a box of barbie dolls, a bookcase which held all the My Secret Unicorn books, a few posters of pop bands and a wardrobe full of skirts, jeans, dresses and tops with butterflies, hearts and stars. And there was nobody in it.

* * *

Sara Sidle was worried for Greg. She had thought him being emotionless was bad, but getting his hopes dashed time and time again had to be worse. And while this house was full of secret rooms, none seemed to hav Catherine in them. sara couldn't help but think it was too late to save her and Linsdey. She couldn't help but think Grant had panicked when he'd realised the cops were looking for him, and gotten rid of her. But she wasn't willing to give up hope, for Greg's sake. Although looking back, she realised hope had been the breaking of him in the first place.

Sara opened up the last cupboard in the kitchen and sighed. Nothing. Turning to leave, Sara slipped on some water on the ground and fell against the fridge door. All of a sudden, something beeped and Sara looked on in shock aas one whole wall of the kitchen moved away, just like a remote controlled garage door.

"Greg!" she called, and he came running into the kitchen.

"Woah." he said, staring at the white wall with a single door in it. "What happened to all the cupboards?"

"Come on." she said, moving to open the door.

"Locked."

"We need to find the key."

"Where would he put it?"

"Bedroom maybe?" he suggested.

As they were searching through the drawers, Greg recalled on some memories.

"Remember Catherine could open any door with just a hairpin?"

"Yeah."

"And she used to always know whenever a guy was lying, just by looking at him."

"I remember."

"If it was me or you missing, Catherine would have found us ages ago."

"Greg, you did everything you could."

"Whatever."

They searched in silence for a while. Then Sara found a set of keys. They tried every one in the door, and finally it swung open.

There was a bed in the room. On it lay a women, face down, with long, curly black hair. She was wearing blue pajama trousers and a too-big concert t-shirt. Sara checked for pulse.

"She's alive, just asleep."

"Oh." Greg didn't really care about her. He only cared about Catherine.

"Greg, there's another room."

They went into the second room, and on another bed, a girl about ten years old lay asleep.

Lindsey.

Greg ran over to the bed and checked for pulse. Once he was certain she was alive, he hugged her tightly. She still didn't wake up.

"Sleeping tablets." Sara noticed, picking up the pill bottle on the floor.

"Catherine used to give her sleeping tablets." Greg remembered.

"When he heard us outside Grant must have hidden Lindsey and whoever that woman is in here and drugged them."

"Doesn't look too uncomfortable." Greg said, looking around the room.

"You're right. Any injuries on Lindsay?"

"A cut on her knee. Doesn't look to bad. A few scratches on her right arm and a bruise on her leg."

"All normal injuries for a girl of that age to have. I'm going to go check that woman."

"Alright." he said, unwilling to let Lindsey go. Then Sara called him in, her voice breaking.

"Sara, what's..." his voice trailed off as he looked at the woman, Sara had turned her around. There wasn't a single bruise or cut on her, and behind the long wavy hair, as black as ink, she has a very familiar face.

"CATHERINE!" Greg cried,pulling the sleeping woman into his arms and sobbing into her shoulder. He wasn't sure how long he held her for, he was aware of Sara calling Nick, Vega and the NYPD. He was aware of the watch he wore slowly ticking. Then, all of a sudden he felt movement. She was waking up. Greg slowly layed her back down onto the bed. The few tears he had left slowly rolled down his cheeks and fell softly on her pajamas. Catherine slowly opened up her eys, and Greg was susrprised to see hazel eyes, instead of blue ones. But what surprised him the most was the way she looked at him, as if puzzled.

"Catherine, we came back for you. I'm sorry we never found you before but I'm here now and they're taking Grrant away and everything can go back to normal." he kissed her then, dropping his mouth onto hers. But while she didn't protest she didn't kiss him back.

"Catherine?" he asked slowly.

"Do I know you?" she whispered.


	8. Meet Steven

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**Sorry I haven't updated this in ages, I decided to finish Spring Break With The Lab Rats first! Anyways, it's done now, and I'm back. Posting for this will be regular again. To anybody who's still reading this, this chapter is set in the past again, about a week after the last one. Enjoy!**

_And I don't now how I can do without_**  
**

_I just need you now_

* * *

He had to admit, his hair looked good blonde. It would go well with the cashmere jacket he'd bought himself as a congratulations for managing to skip the charges and finally get those damn handcuffs off. The jacket he was looking at longingly now as it hung in his wardrobe. The jacket that probably cost fifty times as much as everything he was wearing now put together. He looked at himself in the mirror. Faded denim jeans. Blue polo shirt. Grey jumper. Brown Doc Martens. He contemplated using one of the moustaches he had in his case, but decided against it. Facial hair was always freaky for children. And that wouldn't do at all. He combed the blondish hair back again. Then he put in the contacts. Then glasses. Technically, dark sunglasses would be better, as they would hide more of his face and he woouldn't have to disguise his eyes colour, but again, dark glasses can creep kids out. They would never trust a man in dark sunglasses, a moustache and a business suit. So he put on the reading glasses instead and smiled. That wouldn't do either. His teeth were too white. Barbequed ribs. That would do it. And he hadn't had any in ages. His diet could wait until he had what he wanted.

"Hello, Bob's Barbeque Bar at your service."

"Hello."

"What can I get for ya sir?"

"Do you have ribs?"

"We sure do sir. What kind of meat?"

"Pork I suppose."

"Great. And what sauce would you like with that?"

"Barbeque sauce."

That's all fine and dandy. Adress please."

He rattled off the words he knew so well and then hung up the phone. His head was pounding now and he rubbed his temples softly. _It's going to get better._ He reminded himself. _It's going to get much better. It's going to get much better soon. Very soon. _Because very soon, he would have what he wanted. He would have what he'd always wanted.

A box of barbeque ribs, two cups of coffee and three phone calls later, he was ready to go. The three people he phoned didn't know it would be their last time ever talking to him again. They didn't know it would be their last time ever talking to anyone again.

* * *

Kyle was the first to arrive. He had the jeep he had ordered. It was red, and suitably clean, but not spotless, just as requested. The license plate led back to another red jeep that they'd passed earlier on, just in case anybody got suspicous and memorisied the license plate number before called the cops. The guy driving the jeep had been wearing a checked shirt. He had a brown beard. His life could have been wrecked in the next few days, but nobody was even going to notice. Kyle gave him the keys to the truck. He got a bullet in the chest.

Ross was next. He'd been a police officer about three years now, and one of his moles for almost two. He gave him the badge he'd taken from one of the other officers. He looked fairly pleased with himself as he did it. Same face he always had whenever he told him some latest piece of news surrounding Catherine. He'd never liked him much, and now that he had no use for him anymore, there was no sense in keeping him. He got a bullet in the heart.

Lola or Lila or Lily or Lolly or whatever she called her self was the last to arrive. She had everything else. Lila/Lola/Lily/Lolly had been his girlfriend for a while now. If somebody asked him a year from now what she looked like, he wouldn't remember. He'd know that she was blonde, with a D cup bra. They all were. If somebody aske dhim how he killed her he wouldn't remember. He'd assume it was strangulation, as that was his preferred way of dealing with girls, but he couldn't be sure. Altough he was right. If somebody asked him what her last words were, or how she looked in the second before the light went out of her eyes forever, he wouldn't know. All he knew was that she gave him the final piece in his puzzle. The final thing he needed to do what he'd wanted to do for a long time. And she would be the last person to ever see Grant Eastwood again.

He threw all three bodies to the dogs he kept purely for this purpose. Once they were done, he let them go. It wasn't like he was ever going to need them again.

He adjusted his glasses one more time. Then he drove away from the place he'd called home for nineteen years. And he didn't feel a thing.

* * *

He pulled up to the after school club, Ross had told him she'd be there since Catherine was out at a scene. He knocked on the door.

"Hello?" a weary eyed woman asked him suspicously.

"Hi, I'm Steven. I'm here to pick up Catherine Willow's daughter."

"Lindsey?"

"Yes. I'm a friend of Ms Willows, we work together."

"Really?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "What do you work as then?"

"I'm a detective. She's a CSI, we do cases together all the time."

"Well, you got her proffesion right. But still, I can't just give away a child."

"Here." he said, taking the wallet out of his pocket and displaying the badge. "My badge."

"Ok then." she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Lindsey, Steven's here."

"Steven?" a pretty ten year old girl appeared around the corner with two of her friends. "I don't know any Steven."

He held his breath. Even though he knew Catherine had been doing her best to keep him away from her ever since she was born he was still worried she would recognise him from somewhere. But she didn't.

"Listen, sir, with all due respect, I think it's best if we just wait for Ms. Willows." Luckily he was prepared for this.

"I'll call her right now if you like, but she's not gonna like being disrupted at a scene."

"Alright then. Call." the woman said, corssing her arms.

He typed in a few numbers and dialled the phone. "Hello Catherine."

"Hey, you don't sound too good, are you alright?" he said. There was a pause.

"Probably caught it at one of the scenes." he told her.

"Yeah. It was raining too. At least it's just a cold." Steven replied to the woman on the phone.

"Can I please speak to Ms Willows?" the lady asked him.

"Sure. Cath? I'm trying to pick up Lindsey like you asked, the woman at the centre just wants confirmation I'm not some psycho off the streets."

"Ms Willows is that you?" the lady asked once Steven had given her the phone.

"Yes." the voice on the other side of the pone replied.

"Listen, are you sure it's alright for Lindsey to..."

"Yeah, it's fine with me. He's just dropping her off at Laura's house, she got invited over there for dinner and I couldn't spare any of the other CSI's to take her. But Steven's a good guy, she should remember him from the barbeque last year."

"Alright then, if you're sure."

"Give my love to Lindsey. And tell Steven I said thank you."

"I will. Sorry about this."

"It's alright. Now I gotta go take something for this cold."

"Goodbye Ms Willows."

"Goodbye."

"Listen Lindsey, your mom says that you got an invitation to go to Laura's house for dinner tonight. And the other guys from the lab were all busy, so Steven offered to drop you off." the lady explaind to Lindsey, after giving Steven back his phone.

"I'm going to Laura's?" Lindsey asked excitedly.

"Yes. She said you should know Steve from a barbeque or something?" the lady suggested.

"I don't know... there were so many people there. But yeah, he does look kinda familiar." Lindsey shrugged.

"Good. Now go get your bag, and we'll see you on Fridays. Laura comes on Fridays too right?" the lady asked, going inside again with Lindsey.

"Yeah she does. See you then." Lindsey smiled.

And then the woman had to go over to two five year old boys who were fighting.

"Well done Stacey. You do a good impression." Steven whispered into the phone as Lindsey said goodbye to her friends.

"Thanks. I've been practising since you sent me that tape." she replied.

"I can tell. And the cold was a good idea." Steven replied.

"Thank you, just so she realises my voice isn't perfectly normal anyway."

"Good girl."

She didn't know that an hour later, she would be dead. Killed in a hit and run, with no signs of anything other than an accident that nobody wanted to take the blame for. It was never solved. The case went cold. And Bryon, the driver of the car headed off to arrange things. He was the only person left out of the five people that Grant had told of his plans. And he was the only one who would get to stay alive. Not because Grant particaulary liked him, but because he needed him. This way, there was no paper trail, nobody who could turn traitor and give him up to the cops. Nobody except him and Bryon.

"You work with my mom?" Lindsey asked as they walked towards the jeep.

"Yes." Steven replied, holding the door open for her.

"Cool." she smiled, getting in.

About ten minutes down the road she spoke again.

"Em.. I think you made a worng turn there."

"I know where I'm going." Steven replied, smiling sinisterly.

"Where?" she asked, her voice suddenly afraid.

"A place that's going to make you wish you never trusted me." he whispered.

She screamed then, and thumped on the winds, pulled at the door, yelled at the top of her lungs. But nothing worked. And soon, they were there.


	9. Nothing

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**This one is set in the present again, probably about ten seconds after the last one. Thank you C.H.W.13 for reviewing this and I just wish the other people that I know are reading this would review too, I want to hear from you, even if you hate it! So please review?**

**Also, for anybody interested, I made a trailer for this! I'm not on youtube but I'm going to upload it to Veoh. I'll send a link soon!**

_Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door_**  
**

_Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before_

* * *

He couldn't speak. He couldn't walk. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't give any indication that he was alive. Was he alive? He found that he didn't really care. Because nothing mattered if she didn't know him. How could she not know him? How could she look at him as if she'd never seen him before? How could she not try to escape from this place as soon as she woke up? How could she not know him? How?

"Greg..."

For a minute, Greg wondered if he'd been fooling himself all along. Had he imagine everything? Was there ever anything between him and Catherine? Was there ever anything at all? Catherine had asked him who he was, now he found himself asking himself the same question. Who was Greg Sanders? Maybe he was the one who was crazy, the one who was dillusional, the one who was insane. Was it possible that he had made Catherine up completely? That he had made up Sara and Nick and Warrick and Grissom and his job and his life? Maybe it was all a dream. Could you dream an entire life? He waasn't sure anymore. But he wasn't sure of anything. Nothing was certain anymore, nothing was conrete, nothing was fact.

"Greg?"

As the world spun around Greg, people turning into a blur of colours, all the colours mixing into one: grey. Everything was grey, and nothing would saty still. If the world would just spinning around him, or wait...was he the one spinijng? Was anybody spinning at all?

"Greg!"

He had to be dead. That was it. He was dead, and he was somehow wavering between the dead and the living, so he was not really in either. Maybe they couldn't decided to send him to heaven or hell? Or maybe he was in hell already. Maybe there was no heaven. Maybe there was no earth. Maybe hell was all there was, and lives were just a result of people imagining, wishing they had a better life.

GREG!"

The funny thing was, he'd thought fighting with her was bad. He'd thought loosing her was bad, not having her was bad. But now she was so close, and yet she wasn't real. Maybe that was it. Who said it was really her? This could be any random girl from anywhere in the world. Maybe he wasn't crazy. It was no wonder she didn't remember his name. Wait a minute...what was his name?

"GREGORY HOJEM SANDERS!"

Then he understood everything. He wasn't real. He laughed at the situation, although it came out more demented than amused, he didn't hear it anyway. Didn't hear anything. Didn't see anything. Didn't smell anything. Didn't taste anything. Didn't feel anything. Because he was not real. He was a ghost. Maybe he had died as a baby, and that was why he didn't remember his life before then except for the one he'd made for himself. And he knew he'd made it up. Because parts of it were too good to be true.

And then suddenly, all the air was whooshed out of him as somebody pushed him up against the the wall and kissed him. He was pinned to the wall, trapped underneath this person who was kissing him. He felt his the lips on his and the tongue in his mouth and he opened the eyes he didn't realise had been closed. Her eyes weren't closed either.

"Sara?" he choked in srprise, and she smiled. Then she moved back and moved off of him, so Greg wasn't pinned to the wall anymore.

"Sorry Greggo, you were going into convulsions or something. It was the only way you would stop." she explained. Greg, still shocked, tried to form words in his mouth.

"You couldn't just shake me or something?" he asked her eventually.

"Greg, look at yourself in the mirror." she asked, pointing to the mirror which hung on the wall.

He did, and he was shocked at what he saw. One side of his hair was completely messed up, spiking up at many odd angles as if somebody had grabbed it. He could already see a bruise starting to form on his right arm, and there were nail marks from being pinched all over his upper arms and shoulders. That, and there was a red hand mark on his face, right across his left cheek.

"You wouldn't snap out of it. Kept saying you weren't real and you were dead and everything was gone. No ammount of shouting or nudging or hitting or shaking was working." Sara replied.

"Wait a minute, Catherine. She's gone! Where did she go?" Greg realised suddenly, looking around the room that contained only the two of them.

"They took her to hospital, although she's claiming she's absolutely fine. Vega's gone to get her statement." Sara replied tracing circles on his back to try and calm him down.

"Does she..." Greg began, unable to finish it. And as he watched Sara's face visibly contort in pain, he realied she didn't want to tell him. Which couldn't be good.

"Greg, I'm sorry. We don't know why..."

"Let's go." Greg cut her off.

"What?" she asked, following him as he headed out the door.

"We're going to the hospital. Now." He told her. Greg thought she was going to arguw with him for a minute, but she didn't.

"Alright." she agreed.

* * *

She was lying in a hospital bed, her hair spread out across the pillow. It was definately, absolutely, without-a-doubt certainly Catherine. And he wasn't sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Why isn't she moving?" Greg asked Sara, who hadn't left his side since they'd arrived at the hospital.

"She's just asleep Greg." Sara told him.

"Oh." Greg sighed.

"Doctors didn't find anything wrong with her, no head injuries that would indicate amnesia or memory loss." Sar explained, looking at the medical chart on her bed.

"So why...?" Greg asked.

"They think she was probably just temporarily in shock." Sara told him.

"She's going to remember me?" Greg asked her.

"I think so." Sara smiled.

Relief washed over Greg, heavier than a tsunami wave.

"Can I talk to her?" he asked.

"Of course." Sara replied.

"Alone." Greg added.

"Oh. Oh right. Sure. I'll be waiting outside." Sar said, patting him on the back.

"Thanks." he replied, faking a smile.

"And Greg?" she asked him.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"It's gonna be okay." she whispered, ruffling up his hair before going to stand outside the door.

"Thanks Sara." he said, even though he knew she could not hear it.

"Catherine?" he asked, gently stroking her cheek.

"Yes..." she murmured, her eyes still closed.

"Catherine, it's Greg." he told her.

"Greggie?" she asked quietly. Greg felt more relief, and he kneeled down next to the hospital bed.

"Yeah. Yeah it's me." he whisped.

"I love you Greggie..."

"Catherine, you have no idea how much that means..."

"I say it every day..." she said, confused. Her eyes were still closed.

"I haven't heard it in a long, long time."

"What do you mean.. I said it..." she was getting more confused now. She slowly opened her eyes.

"You're not Greggie." she said, loudly and coldly.

"What? Yes I am, Greg Sanders." Now it was Greg's turn to be confused.

"Sandson you mean."

"What?"

"Gregory Sandson."

"No, no that's just what Grant called himself."

"Grant who?"

"Grant Eastwood. I'm the real Greg Sanders."

"I don't know a Greg Sanders."

"But..you just said that you loved me."

"Greggie. Gregory."

"You love him?"

"I love him."

"WHAT!" Greg was yelling now, and sensing that something was wrong, Sara came into the room.

"Greg, is everything okay?" she asked.

"No, it is NOT ok Sara. She's in love with Grant Godamn Eastwood and she STILL DOESN'T KNOW WHO I AM!" Greg yelled.

"Greg, calm down, you're attracting a lot of attention and.." Sara began, running up to him.

"I don't care anymore!" He shouted.

"Sir, if you could please keep your voice down..." a doctor came into the room.

"I can't keep my voice down I just found out that..."

"GREG!" Sara yelled, pushing him up against the wall and knocking the breath out of his lungs. She was glad she'd taken those self defencs classes. They really did come in handy. Even if the docotr was giving her strange looks, at least Greg was quiet now. He was crying again, but at least he wasn't yelling.

"Sara, just leave me alone..." Greg begged.

"No Greg. I am not going to leave you alone." she said.

"Listen, I recommend that this young man be taken to..." the doctor began, but Sara cut him off.

"He's fine. Really he is. He's just found out that the woman he loves doesn't remember him."

"I understand, and the stress and trauma of such a situation could lead to..." the doctor was insisting.

"No. Greg will be fine." Sara assured him.

Then she put his arm around her, so that he was draped over her body, and she half walked-half dragged him out of the room.

* * *

Sara Sidle didn't know what to do. She couldn't understand what had happened to Catherine, none of them did. And Lindsey was still in the childrens ward, refusing to talk to anyone, although she had been given the all-clear by the doctor. Social services were called since Catherine was obviously unstable. Lindsey was getting picked up in an hour. In the mean time, Grant had been taken back to Vegas where he was being convicted for selling drugs as well as the murder of several people whose remains had been found buried in his old house in Vegas. Grissom and Warrick had been able to open an official investigation and get a warrant to search his property once they found Catherine in his house. They had put Grant in a police car and he was en route now, where they were hoping to charge him twenty five to life for drug selling and murder. Sara knew that they had him, that they didn't need another sentence: kidnapping, to add to them, but she had to figure it out anyway. For Greg. So she decided that since Grant was going to Vegas, and Catherine was being brought back to a hospital in Vegas, it made sense for her and Greg to go back too. Nick and the NYPD had processed the whole house in New York anyway, and the nightclub, so there was nothing holding them back. Sara put her arm around Greg. He didn't move, just did that stony staring forward at nothing thing he'd been doing for the past three hours. Sara sighed and booked the next flight to Nevada. Then she gave Greg another hug.

* * *

Nothing. That was what he felt. He knew he'd felt nothing before, but this was different. This time he saw nothing. He heard nothing. There was nothing, just a shadowy circle of grey surrounding him. Greg was surrounded by nothing. And in a way that was good. Because nothing was better than the slow, excruitiating pain as you bleed to death from a stab wound to the heart. And the dull ache of knowing the person who stabbed you is the person you would die for. You did die for. Because he was dead. And she had killed him. And he couldn't stop loving her, couldn't stop missing her. So yes, Greg was glad he felt nothing. It was the better option right now. Nothing was good.


	10. The Video

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**Sorry I haven't updated in a while. This chapter is set in the past, and it's more of a filler than anything. A bit of a random exchange between Sara, Nick and Greg, as well as a bit of Greg/Catherine. I'm just trying to explain how things were before all the stuff happened. And this is taking place at the same time as the last chapter, while Grant is kidnapping Lindsey. Enjoy and review!**

_And I wonder if I ever cross your mind?_

_For me it happens all the time._

* * *

Her heels clicked on the floor. She would never get tired of that sound. Catherine clicked her way down the corridor, to the third layout room where she knew Greg would be with Sara and Nick. There were pictures of animals spread out on the table.

"I thought you solved your case?" Catherine asked, confused by the case file they were still reading.

"We did, but it's a slow night." Nick sighed.

"Sow what, you're just re-reading it for fun?" Catherine asked. She smiled. They had to very bored.

"The girl, Louise, she had thirty four cats." Greg explained.

"And she neglected and possibly abused them." Sara told her, showing a picture of one of the fluffy creatures, this one had only one eye.

"So now Sara here's got us doing a case of animal rights." Nick groaned.

"We're like activists." Greg said.

"We are activists." Sara corrected.

"That's what I said." Greg moaned.

"You said we're LIKE activists." Sara explained.

"Whatever, we're activists." Greg sighed.

"Not just like them." Sara added.

"Not just like them." Greg repeated in a high pitched voice.

"Bleh bleh bleh." Sara mocked.

"La la la la la la la..." Greg sung, his fingers over his ears.

"You guys are so immature." Nick said saly.

"Oh yeah Stokes, because you're so mature." Greg scoffed.

"I am." Nick replied, taking a sip out of his mug.

"Just sitting there casually drinking coffee and watching us." Sara laughed.

"Wait a minute. Show me that coffee." Greg said suddenly.

"What coffee?" Nick asked, before realising that he was in fact, holding the coffee mug.

"The stuff you're drinking. Is that mine?" Greg asked him.

_Oh shit._ Nick thought. Quickly, he tipped the mug upside down and swallowed the last of his coffee. He showed Greg the empty mug.

"Ha." he smiled smugly.

"You found his coffee and you never told me?" Sara asked increduously.

"You are so dead Nick." Greg growled.

"Hell yeah." Sara agreed.

"You'd need to catch me to kill me." With that, Nick took off down the corridor, leaving the empty cup on the table.

"Come on Sara, after him!" Greg yelled.

They chased him down the corridor, bumping into Grissom on the way and attracting several odd looks and a "what the heck is going..." from Grissom, although they never got to hear the end because they were running too fast. Eventually they back him into a corner in the garage.

"We gon' beat you up!" Greg yelled in a fake accent.

"Yeah!" Sara echoed, copying Greg's jamacan accent..

"Beating people up in the lab is illegal." Nick told them, laughing.

"You thin' we care 'bout the law sugar?" Greg whispered, his accent stronger than ever.

"Why are you talkin like that, it's weird..." Nick said uneasily.

"That is his voice! Donut mock my friend!" Sara replied, her accent now veering into a mixture of Scandinavian and Italian.

"Sara. The purse." Greg asked.

"Purse? You guys are gonna hit me with a purse?" Nick laughed.

"Nope. The purse I keep for going out to dinner." Sara explained,handing it to Greg.

"Tie his arms down." Greg told her.

"Guys, it was only a joke don't..." Nick began, but he was laughing too hard to continue.

"Your pleas come too late my friend. Tie him to the chair and tie his hand together." Greg said evily.

"Sure boss. I get to do the rest too!" Sara asked, joining Greg in his evil laughter. She tied his arms as he requested, and Nick came to the conclusion that his friends had gone mad. He knew they weren't really going to hit him, because you can't hit your friends. Besides, if they actually hurt him, they would get suspended or even fired. So what were they going to do to him?

"We can both do it. Close your eyes Nick.." Greg whispered.

"I am not closing my eyes... would you guys let me go?" Nick asked.

"Nope. And close your eyes or else Sinister Sidle over here will kill you." Greg told him, pointing to Sara who growled like a rabid dog.

"Fine. They're closed." Nick sighed.

* * *

"Nice look Nick." Warrick grinned.

"Looking hot Nicky." Catherine laughed.

"Hey there Nicolette." Hodges called.

"Nick. That colour suits you." Mandy giggled.

"Hey, I never knew Nick had a sister!" Archie smiled.

"Haha very funny guys." Nick said sarcastically. He rubbed at his face again. It was no use. The stupid make-up just wouldn't come off.

"Nick, where do you think you're going looking like that?" Grissom asked him, looking at him like he was a very interesting insect.

"I can't get it off."Nick explained, rubbing at his face again.

"Why did you put it on in the first place?" Grissom asked him.

"It wasn't me, it was them." Nick said, pointing to Greg and Sara, who had been laughing for the last ten minutes.

"I don't really want to know any more, do I?" Grissom asked, turning to Catherine, who was having trouble keeping a straight face.

"You definately don't."she told him.

"I'm going to go ask one of the female lab techs how to get this stuff off." Nick sighed, walking out of the break room. Greg and Sara's laughter gradually ceased.

"Okay. Warrick, you and Nick have a 419 at the Tangiers. Sara, you're coming with me to a multiple homicide on Fremont." Grissom changed the subject and began handing out assignments.

"Cool." Warrick nodded.

"Let's go." Sara said, hi-fiving Greg one last time.

"Catherine, you might as well stay, you get off in an hour. And Greg, just take the next call out." Grissom suggested, before following Sara to the cars.

"Great." Greg smiled, lying out on the sofa.

"And try not to break anything." Grissom yelled back.

"I never break things..." Greg muttered.

"So, do you wanna get some coffee or something?" Catherine asked him, concious of the fact they had an hour to themselves.

"Are you asking me out, Ms Willows?" Greg asked her..

"Oh yeah. Totally. Are you interested?" Catherine played along, twirling her hair around her finger.

"Very." Greg replied.

"So am I." She smiled back.

And then he was kissing her, and she was kissing him back. When he started to go further though, gently kissing down her neck, she broke away from him.

"Greg, in the break room, seriously?" Catherine asked, looking around her and doing up the two buttons she hadn't even realised Greg had undone on her blouse.

"You're right. Let's go to your office." Greg suggested, smiling suggestively.

"Greg! Isn't that against the lab rules?" Catherine asked him, following him to the office anyway.

"It's good to break the rules." Greg replied, pushing her into the office and kicking the door shut behind them.

"We could get fired." Catherine reminded him.

"I'm all fired up already." Greg whispered.

"If anyone sees us..." she began, looking around.

"They won't. I'll be quiet." Greg whispered, as if to show her how quite he could be.

"It's not you I'm worried about." Catherine admitted. She was prone to being quite loud at times like these, when she was with Greg.

"I could put duct tape on your mouth?" Greg suggested, picking up the roll of tape from her desk.

"I'll pass. But nice idea." Seh laughed, finally excepting what was going to happen. And shocking herself just a little that she actually wanted it to happen.

"I've got an even better one." Greg smiled, sweeping all the case files off her desk and throwing her onto it. Then he kissed her again.

* * *

Catherine fixed her hair for what had to be the tenth time. She smoothed down her clothes again and looked around her. She felt like everybody was staring at her in disgust, like everybody could tell whate she'd just done. Catherine was sure it was visible in her eyes, obvious by her expression, clear in her blushed cheeks. For all she felt, Catherine Willows may as well have been wearing a neon flashing sign that read "I just had sex with Greg Sanders in my office." But nobody noticed. Nobody knew. Greg didn't give anything away. He was more used to it than Catherine. After all, he'd once made her laugh with the story of how we had sex with a girl from college ina confession box while mass was on, for a dare. And nobody had heard them. Or noticed at all. That was actually one of his proudest achievments, even if he didn't even remember the name of the girl. A one week college romance. She had been a french foreign exchange student. And Matt, Joey, and Karl had been so jealous when he'd been the one to go out with him. But in the end, they were the ones who settled down with long term girlfriends. Greg went to all of their weddings later on. They all had children, or at least step children. But Greg had Catherine. And she was all he'd ever wanted. Even if she didn't want to do it in a confession box.

* * *

Catherines phone beeped as she was heading out the door, waving a quick goodbye to Greg, who was helping a make-up less Nick and Warrick on their case until a new one came in. She said she'd check it when she was in the car, but completely forgot. It wasn't until she was at home, and it beeped again that she looked at the message. It was a link. And no wrods. From a number she didn't recognise. Catherine flipped open her laptop and plugged in the phone, getting up the link on her screen. She quickly downloaded the video, hoping she wasn't going to get a virus on her computer. Then she pressed play.

It was Lindsey. Catherine checked her watch, she wasn't supposed to pick her up for another half an hour, when her after school club finished. Then the video zoomed out, making Catherine gasp in horror. Lindsey was tied up and in a cellar somewhere. Grant was standing behind her, a knife in his had. The sound of her daughters screams echoed in the empty apartment as he slowly grazzed the back of her neck with the blade. Catherine felt a part of her dying. What sprt of eprson could do that to his own daughter? And then suddenly, Grant's face filled the screen again. "37, Applwood Driver, Henderson. Tell nobody, bring nobody and don't even think about calling the cops. Or Greg." Then the screen blurred to black.

Catherine didn't know that this was a trap. She didn't realise that Grant wasn't going to do anything to Lindsey, simply because she bored him. Grant Eastwood only wanted Catherine. And dsepite her hatred of him, he knew her well. Catherine had worked for him for more than ten years and he knew her inside and out. Knew the things that made her smile, the things that made her laugh. Grant knew the things that made her shiver and the things that made her tick. He mainly knew that she was stubborn. And she loved those who were close to her. That was why Catherine would abandon all common sense, all training and all knowledge of what is best. Because Catherine would stop at nothing for her daughter. She wouldn't call the police. She wouldn't text Greg. She wouldn't tell anybody where she was going. Catherine didn't have a back up plan, a secret escape route. She didn't even have a gun. It was strange that she believed she could help her daughter without any of these things. But all she cared ab=out was getting to her. Grant knew this. He was actually considering kidnapping that Greg person instead. It would be a double whammy, paayback for not taking that stupid bullet and always appearing at the wrong time in the wrong place. But then he'd be stuck with Greg. And Lindsey would be much easier to maipulate. Be much easier to handle. Also, he'd never be able to get rid of Greg once he had hin. He would never leave Catherine's side. No, kidnapping Greg would have been a bad idea. The kid though, she was different. He would'nt even need to waste the stuff on her, because she would follow her would be following him.

Grant watched the monitor, he saw the live feed he was stealing from the traffic camera. She was driving. Grant switched to the view from the miniature camera he'd set up in her car. She looked scared. Good. She eas hot when she was scared. All too soon, the show ended. She got out of the car Grant looked out his own window There she was. And she was coming in. He heard a knock on the door.


	11. Poetic Ways Of Dying

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**Okay, this chapter is in the future. Italics are flashbacks.**

_It's a quater after one, I'm a little drunk and I need you now_

_Said I wouldn't call, but I've lost all control and I need you now_

* * *

Greg smiled. For the first time since he had found out that Catherine didn't know him, or love him, anymore, he smiled. But it wasn't a happy smile. Because he wasn't happy. How could he ever be happy again? The reason Greg was smiling was because he was finally doing something about it. It was cold smile, a harsh smile. Because Greg was finally doing something. But it was something bad.

He'd always said that if he was ever going to kill himself, he would plan it really well. And possibly set Ecklie up for his murder. Greg was a CSI after all. He knew everything there was to know about murder and suicide and how they investigate, and what sort of evidence does well in court. So why not bring somebody he hated down with him? But when the time came, there was no setting up. Not much planning either. It was just Greg, a photo of Catherine and a gun he'd stolen from balistics. As soon as he'd managed to get the gun, Greg hadn't been able to wait. He'd just ran until he found an empty room. Which happened to be the morgue, both coroners were on call-outs. He was going to die among dead people. That thought pleased him more than it should have.

As Greg traced his jaw with the gun, he wished that his suicide had been more poetic. He wished he thought that nobody in the world cared about him, that everybody hated him, that he wouldn't be missed, that death was the best thing to do, the only way out. But he didn't. In truth, Greg knew Grissom would be devastated, maybe blame himself for not being more supportive. He knew that Warrick He knew that Nick would probably cry, a lot. He would proably be mad at everyone for a while, maybe shut himself off. He knew that Archie, Wendy, Henry and Mandy would be upset, and that they would miss him a lot. He knew that even Hodges would be sad. And mainly, Greg knew that if he died, a part of Sara would die too. She would never be the same again. Also, Greg knew the whole lab would miss him, and care about his death. Greg knew that what he was about to do wasn't for the best. It wasn't the only thing he could do. It was the easy way out. Easy for him. since he had lost his feelings, his concious, his sense of what was right and wrong a long time ago. So he didn't even have to battle himself. He knew what he was doing was wrong but he didn't have to overcome those feelings. He didn't have to make himself do it. He would just do it. Greg wondered why he hadn't already done it. Then he realised he was just waiting for a better moment. He needed to die thinking something meaningful, needed his last thoughts on earth to be like something out of a movie. Because his whole life had been so fucked up, that he just had to do this one thing right. He had to die properly. Otherwise he would fade into nothing beside the bodies surrounding him. Greg would rot away to nothing amongst the faceless, nameless dead. He needed his last few moments to mean something to him.

Briefly, he wondered what his life would have been like if he had never met Catherine. It was as if someone had pressed a rewind button on his brain, and he found himself being transported back to that night when it all started.

_Boy, she was hot. Greg knew she could probably feel his eyes on her, but he couldn't look away. She was different. The other girls here, they were all T&A. This girl was more then that. She turned around again, so she was now facing him. Even from twenty feet away and with all the people dancing in between them, her blue eyes shot through him like lasers. Behind her eyes, there was passion, intensity, fire. _

_"Hey, G, dude, that hot redhead girl is making eyes at you!"_

_The wolf whistles began._

_"She is smokin' man, what does she see in you?"_

_"Shut up guys." Greg said playfully, finally breaking eye contact with the girl and turning to look at his friends. "Come on let's go get some drinks."_

_As they made their way through the dancefloor and over to the bar, Greg thought about the girl. He couldn't explain it. They immediantly had some sort of a connection, and he couldn't figure out why. He'd admired the girls here before. Tanya, Izabella, Zara and Sasha had all occupied his thoughts for a night at a time. This must be his twentieth time coming here, and he'd never seen this girl before. Soemthing gave him a feeling she wasn't new though, she looked experienced. He wasn't sure what was stopping him going over to this girl and handing her ten dollar bills like his friends would surely be doing, like he'd done himself the last weeks. He just knew it wouldn't feel right._

They'd had a connection, the very first time he'd seen her he'd known it. But what if that had been it? What if that night had been the first and last time he'd seen her? What if she wasn't there the next time when he came the night before Matt's wedding, him, Joey and Matt?

_"What's your name?" she asked him, her pink tongue taunting him as it moved around her mouth._

_"Greg. Greg Sanders." he told her. "What's yours?"_

_"You can call me Cat." She said, laying a hand on his shoulder. He felt electricity surge through him at her touch._

_"Yo, man, get the hell outta the way, we wanna talk to her too!" An indignant guy yelled from behind Greg. But when he moved over tolet the guy in front, Cat stood up straight again and continued her dance. Greg went to find his friends. He couldn't keep watching her, it was driving him crazy. He was burning up with desire, not just to touch her and kiss her but to know her, to understand her. It was crazy._

_He felt something else in his pocket. A pink post-it. _

_'I like your hair, muy caliente' it read, in neat italic handwriting. It was signed, Cat._

What if she wasn't there when he came with Joey, the night his girlfriend announced she was moving to Paris. That had been the night he'd gone to meet her outside the club, broken up her fight with Grant, took her home. That had been the night that he'd seen the drugs, the alcohol, the state of the house she'd lived in. And, using all his willpower, he had denied the opportunity to sleep with her, because he knew it wouldn't do her any good.

_He broke away from the kiss and pushed her off of him._

_"I can't do this." he whispered._

_"But...Greg..." she began._

_He cut her off "Listen, you need to get a new job. Or go to rehab. You need help."_

_Greg stood up, zipping his trousers and looking around for his Marilyn Manson t-shirt._

_"I can't quit. I need the money."_

_"Get a new job. One thing you don't need is me. I can't do anything for you. Listen, I've got to go." Greg told her, heading for the door._

_"Wait." Greg turned around. All of a sudden, she didn't look like a twenty nine year old exotic dancer anymore. She looked like a lost little girl. "Stay here. You make me feel safe." Tears were brimming in her eyes. "Please." And so, Greg kicked his shoes off again and walked back over to the bed. Cat curled up in his arms and soon, she was snoring softly. Eventually, Greg closed his eyes and let sleep take him too._

What if none of that had happened? Would he still be in Vegas? Still be at the lab? Would she? Would Greg still have such great friends as he had now? Maybe he'd have married some other girl. He might have had children by now. But it was not use dwelling on that. Because none of that had happened. He had met Catherine, saved her from herself, hurt her too many times to count and tumbled into love with her somewhere along the way. And th3ere was no going back. But he din't want to go forward. So he was stopping his course altogether.

Technically, it would be ruled as a suicide. But Greg knew better. Catherine Willow had killed him. Greg may have been the one who pulled the tigger, but it was her. The coroner may say the C.O.D. was a gunshot wound to the head, but Greg knew better. Because you can't live without a heart. And she was the one who had broken it.

That was poetic. Broken hearts. They were the type of thing to think about when you killed yourself. A stereotypical cliche, but it sounded good. He was broken-hearted. With this though Greg smiled again. And then he put his finger on the trigger. And pulled.

The funny thing was, people are supposed to feel pain when they died. But he felt nothing. In the last few second before your life is gone forever, people are supposed to feel regret, sadness, loss, love, pain. Not just in emotionally, but pyshically. A gunshot's gotta hurt, right? But as usual, Greg felt nothing. He told himself to close his eyes for the last time, and he did, repeating the think about being broken hearted in his head. The last thing he thought of was Catherine. And he wondered how she would react. Then everything went black.

**Please review!**


	12. The Kidnapping That Wasn't A Kidnapping

**DISCLAIMER: No ownership of CSI: Crime Scene Investigation is bestowed upon me.**

**In response to malfoystinksstinks, I have only watched a few episodes of CSI:NY, so I don't think I'd be able to write the characters very well. I don't know enough about them, their personalities (or their last names) to do them justice! Also thank you mellis for reviewing! Anyways, I'm sure you've got it by now, but this one is set in the past, blah, blah, blah...**

_And I don't know how I can do without_**  
**

_I just need you now_

* * *

"Catherine." he grinned, opening the door. "Come in."

"Where is she?" Catherine demanded.

"Hey, calm down. You just got here. Can I get you something to drink?"

"I want my daugheter back." Catherine replied with gritted teeth.

"And you'll get her. All in good time. Here, have a seat." Grant offered, patting the armchair next to him.

"I don't want to play games Grant. I just want Lindsey." Catherine replied, her voice firm.

"That's funny. The Catherine I remember used to love games." Grant teased.

"I'm not the same girl any more."

"That's right. Now, really, can I get you anything?"

"Lindsey." she repeated. Grant sighed dramatically.

"Very well." he said "Follow me."

Grant led Catherine down the corridor to the fifth door on the right. Lindsey was lying on a double bed, playing with a Nintendo DS.

"Mommy!" she cried, jumping up to hug Catherine.

"Lindsey! Are you alright?" Catherine asked her.

"Yeah, I'm cool. Look." she gestured at the screen of the Nintendo, "he has Mario Kart."

"That's great honey." Catherine noddded.

"Ah, I love a family reunion." Grant grinned "Like in that film, you know, what's it called..."

"Grant, enough. I have my daughter and now..." Catherine begun, but was interupted by Lindsey.

"Em... the one with the little kid with glasses?" she asked Grant.

"Yeah... Home something..." Grant said, concentarating.

"Lindsey, come on, we're going." Catherine whispered, but her daughter just shook her head.

"Home Alone?" she remembered.

"That's it!" Grant yelled, hi-fiving Lindsey.

"I love that movie." Linsey laughed.

"Me too. When I was a kid I always used to try to make the stuff he made." Grant told her.

"Like all the booby traps?" Lindsey asked.

"Yeah." Grant grinned.

Then Catherine sprung into action. She punched Grant in the nose, and then sent him flying backwards into the wall.

"Go!" she yelled to her daughter, grabbbing her hand and pulling her down the corridors.

She reached the door and twisted the handle. Locked. Shit. She ran over to the window next. Also locked.

"They're all locked." Grant grinned, getting up slowly and wiping his nose with a tissue to stop the bleeding.

"What do you want with us Grant?" Catherine asked him, trying the back door just in case. But it was also locked.

"Hey, I just want you to have a nice visit." Grant smiled.

"We will never have a 'nice visit' Grant. You KIDNAPPED my daughter, you tried to kill me and Greg. And you think you can keep us here and we'll just have a 'nice visit'? We will never..."

"Woah, woah, calm down Kitty Cat." Grant sighed, ruffling her hari affectionately.

Lindsey giggled at the nickname.

"Mom, it's cool, he's not that bad. I don't think this is the guy that shot Greg. He's going to try and help us find out who did it." Lindsey explained to her mom.

"Lindsey, you don't understand." Catherine sighed.

"Just give him a chance mom!" Lindsey yelled.

"Yeah. Give me a chance." Grant echoed.

"Never." Catherine shot back.

"You really are so stubborn, aren't you? Anyway, it doesn't matter. You can stay here until you change your mind about me." Grant told her, heading into the kitchen.

"I will never, ever, change my mind about you." Catherine yelled after him.

"Then I guess you will be here forever." Grant replied.

"What you gonna do, chain me up in the basement?" Catherine shouted.

"Like I would treat my guest like that. Second bedroom on the right can be yours." Grant told her, coming out into the hallway again.

"I don't want it..." Catherine scowled.

"Well then, you can sleep with me in my bedroom." Grant replied.

"No." Catherine shook her head.

"One or the other, Kit-Cat."

"Fine. The first option." Catherine sighed, ignoring the nickname.

"Good idea. This way." He smiled, leading her down the hall.

He led her down the hall and opened the door to a pale blue bedroom, with a king sized bed and flowers on the nightstand. Not the right place to keep a hostage, althought the window had metal bars on it, covered with tasteful blue curtains. Catherine was confused. Was she a hostage? It didn't appear to be that way. Then what could he possibly want from her? If this wasn't about revenge, which it obviously wasn't, why did he kidnap her in the first place? And why was Lindsey so eager to trust him? It didn't make any sense. Nothing did anymore.

* * *

"You coming for dinner Cath?" Grant yelled later.

"No."

"Come on mom, we're having macaroni and cheese!" Lindsey shouted to her.

"Lindsey!" Catherine called, getting up quickly. "Don't eat anything he gives you, there could be poison in it!"

"Mom, wpuld you just calm down? There's no poison in it."

"Come on Cath, you think I'd do that? You must have a pretty low opinion of me."

"That's right, I do."

"Look." he said, taking a forkful of Lindsey's macaroni and eating it. "See?"

"See?" Lindsey echoed.

"Now come on, there's more in the pot." Grant told her.

"No." Catherine shook her head.

"Listen Kitty-Cat, I'm being nice here, would you just relax and have some of this damn macaroni?"

"Would you just let me go? I am NEVER going to like you Grant, NEVER. Why can't you just let me and my daughter go home?"

She stormed off down the corridor, and slammed the door on the bedroom that wasn't hers, angry to find there wasn't a lock. The problem was though, she really was hungry. And she began to wonder why she was so determined to hate Grant.

_Because he raped you, and attacked you, and shot Greg and kidnapped Lindsey. _she reminded herself.

But Catherine liked to consider herself a good judge of charecter, and if she'd talked to a man like Grant now, no mattr how much evidence there was against him, he was the type who'd make her go above and beyond to free. The type Grissom would make his mind up about right away when he saw the evidence, and she would probably fight with him about how there was more than just evidence. Evidence can be wrong, it can be planted, people can be framed. People and their personalities matter too.

_But you SAW him commit the crimes. YOU were the victim of most of them._

The thing was, Catherine was suddenly unsure of everything around her. Could she have imagined it all? Could she be trying to frame an innocent person? Maybe she had really shot Greg, she had really kidnapped Lindsey. Maybe she'd spun this whole webs of lieas around herself. Nothing was certain anymore, nothing was guaranteed. There was only one thing Catherine Willows was sure of. She was loosing her mind.

When she crept back into he kitchen, the macaroni was still in the pot. Grant and Lindsey were just finishing up theirs, and Grant was laughing at Lindsey doing an immitation of some T.V. programme she had seen. Grant smiled at her as she came in.

"Finally mom." Lindsey smiled, pulling out the chair next to her. "Come on, it's really good."

Catherine didn't look at Grant the whole meal, she still wasn't sure what she thought about him. She ate in silence and listened as he made easy, funny conversation with her daughter. By the end of the meal, Catherine was having trouble remembering what he had done to her in the first place.

**Review if you want more!**


	13. What Might Have Been

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**This chapter is in the future, and it continues on from where the last one ended. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and C.H.W.13, I hope this chapter clears thing up for you!**

_Yes I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all._

* * *

Sara Sidle heard the gunshot.

Now, she heard gunshots every day. Sara heard gunshots when the police had to shoot suspects or murderers. Sara heard gunshots when people recorder their own suicides. Sar heard gunshots when people were testing guns to see if they could shoot in the conditions described, such as underwater, through a window or when the wind was almost at gale force. Sara heard these types of shots at the lab all the time. The funny thing was, everybody was supposed to yell out "TWO SHOTS!" or "TEST FIRING" or something elsse to indicate that the gun was being fired for testing purposes, and that the lab was not under attack. Another funny thing, the shots came from the morgue.

Drawing her gun, Sara kicked the door open and moved n, yelling "LVPD" to whoever this intruder was. Except there was none. Just Greg, lying on the ground. Holding a gun.

"Greg!" she yelled, dropping her own gun and running over to him.

"Greg?" she shouted again, leaning down beside him.

Sara picked up the gun, and saw the sticker on it. This gun was from ballistics, one of Bobby's collectors items. Breathing in a sigh of relief, Sara threw the gun away and bent down beside Greg again.

"Greg, can you hear me?" she whispered. "I know you can hear me. Greg, just wake up. Don't make me kiss you again."

Greg slowly opened his eyes.

"You're not Jesus." he said accusingly.

"Last time I checked, no." Sara replied. "What were you expecting?"

"You're supposed to see Jesus in heaven. Not Sara Sidle."

"Heaven?" Sara repeated.

"Yeah. Wait, how'd you get here?" he asked.

"Em... the door?" Sar told him, gesturing behind her.

"You died too huh?"

"Greg, I don't think either of us are dead."

"That's just where you're wrong. I'm dead."

"I don't think so Greg."

He ignored her. "And if I'm dead and I can still see you, then you must be dead too. Unless I'm a ghost. Maybe I've been sent back to haunt you."

"Greg. You're not dead."

"No, I specifically remember dying."

"No, you specifically remember trying to kill yourself."

"Succeeding."

"Greg, don't you know that the guns from Bobby's lab aren't loaded?"

"What?"

"State rules. Any guns kept in these labs must not have bullets in the. Accidents do happen you know."

"This wasn't an accident. I died on purpose."

"But you didn't die Greg."

"Did too." he insisted.

"Did not." she shot back.

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Gotcha." Sara smiled.

"Hey, no fair. I'm in heaven, you have to be nice to me."

"You're not in heaven Greg. You're still on earth."

"Still in Hell you mean."

"Life's what you make it Greg."

"And I made mine hell."

"You can make it whatever you want."

"Not without her."

They were silent for a moment, and Sara realised just how hard this had hit him. The Greg she had known for the past two years was nothing compared to the Greg she'd known their first few years together. And he was even less to the Greg she had known the month when he and Catherine were dating. One night, over the screams from the horror movie they were too scared to watch, the popcorn of which most ended up in their hair, and the beer they'd both had a little too much of, Greg had told her about a girl he liked. Greg had described her personality, her smile, her perfect eyes, hair and lips in such detail that Sar thought he'd been studying her forever. Greg had told her about how she made him feel, and how not having her felt. Greg had told her this girls past, their history together, how every day he watched her, but couldn't have her. Greg had told her the only thing keeping him sane was knowing that she was alright. Seeing that she was happy. Telling himself she was better without him. Sara had guessed who this girl was, but hadn't told Greg. The whole time, he'd simply referred to her as 'Cat.' After that, Sara and Greg spent a lot of nights out on the roof together, when they were hiding from someone in the lab, after a rough case, or when they just felt like being together. Some nights they wouldn't talk at all. They'd just lie there, looking out onto Vegas, comfortable in each others company. Other nights they wouldn't stop talking. They could talk all night. Sara had been the one who encouraged Greg to tell her how he felt. And Greg had been the one to come find her, his eyes glassed over, a red mark on his cheek and a hole in his heart. Sara had been the one who wanted to go slap her back, right there and then, and Greg had been the one who had held her hands together in one of his, and asked her to let him fight his own battles. Sara had been the one to tell him to forget her, and the one who came up with most of the speech Greg had used when Catherine had told him that she still loved him too, after nearly blowing him up. Greg was the one who'd called her in tears after the fight, begged her to tell him what to do, to give him the advice that would make it all better. And she couldn't. Because only Greg knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was what he had to do. The only thing he could do in fact. Sara had been the one who waited outise his hospital room and let Catherine be the first visitor. And Greg had been the one who'd broken away from a kiss to go out and tell Sara what had happened. He'd asked her not to tell Catherine that she already knew, worried Catherine would be offended that Greg had told her about her dancing days. And Sara had went along with it. Because she'd seen how happy he was. How much he laughed. How much he smiled. The little spring in his step that nobody else noticed. Sara saw Greg, completely, utterly, absolutely content, and realised how much brighter his eyes were than the days when he'd play loud music, wear Hawaiin shirts and joke all the time. The days when he'd flirt with everybody, spike up his hair and talk non-stop. Because that hadn't been him happy. That was just him behind his plastic face. And Sara had loved seeing him without it.

Times like this though, she wished he'd kept it on.

Because it pained her to see his red eyes and pale skin. Because she didn't like having to look at his raw emotions, the sorrow, loss, pain and hurt he didn't bother to cover up. Because that time, he didn't even know she was okay. He didn't even know if she was happy. And that hurt him so deeply that he couldn't even attempt to hide it. Sara had been lying to Greg just a little bit. Because he really was dead. And seeing him like this was just as painful as seeing him lying out on the silver table in the morgue, eyes closed, expression serious, gunshot wound on his forehead. Sara wished that he'd kept his plastic face on so that she could deny his feelings, pretend that evrything was okay. Also, it was a lot harder to get hurt underneath the protection of a plastic face. And Greg had been hurt. And Sara couldn't fix him. And it wasn't fair. And it wasn't right. And it wasn't like there was anything she could possibly do to change it, to make it better. Because she would have. Sar would have done something for him. She would have done anything for him. She would have done everything for him. But she could do nothing for him.

_"Life's what you make it_

_So let's make it rock" _It took Sara a minute to realise that the singing was actually coming from Greg.

_"Life's what you make it_

_So come on, come on, come on, everybody now" _He continued. Sara smiled slightly. She had no idea Greg was a Hannah Montanna fan.

_"Why be sad broken hearted?_

_There's so much to do_

_Life is hard or it's a party_

_The choice is up to you_

_With a new attitude everything can change_

_Make it how you want it to be_

_Stay sad, why do that? Give yourself a break_

_I know you want to party with me_

_Life's what you make it_

_So let's make it rock_

_Life's what you make it_

_So come on, come on, come on, everybody now_

_Let's celebrate it, join in everyone_

_You decide 'cause life's what you make it" _She joined in, and they sung the comforting lyrics together.

_"Life is what you make it." _Greg whispered.

"It's true." She reminded him.

"So I'm really not dead?" he asked.

"No Greg, you aren't."

"Oh."

"I still can't believe you were going to do that."

"It was certainly the easier way out."

"What about me?"

"You'd be okay."

"I would not be okay after loosing someone like you."

"That's what I thought too. And I managed five years. Then another two." Greg told her, and Sara knew he was talking about Catherine.

"And you will last many years after that. Starting now." she insisted.

"It should have finished now."

"No Greg. It shouldn't have. Murderers and rapists and druggies and alcholoics and porstitues and mass genocide killer don't deserve to have their lives taken away from them. So why the hell should you?"

"Sara?" he asked, a minute later.

"Yeah?" she replied.

"Thank you." he said, and she could have sworn she saw a ghost of a smile pass his lips.

"Just don't try that again."she told him.

"Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Even though it won't be easy."

"It's going to be hard." he agreed.

"It's going to be really hard." Sara nodded.

At that moment, David Philips, the coroners assistant walked into the morgue.

"Oh my gosh, sorry, I didn't know anybody was in here, I'm leaving now, sorry, sorry, sorry." he said frantically.

Sara and Greg froze, realising the way what they had just said coyld be interpreted, and suddenly aware of the fact that Greg was still on his back on the floor, and Sara was still sitting on top of him, one leg on either side.

"No, no, no, no, this isn't what it looks like Dave." Sara explained, getting up.

"Ah." he nodded, grinning.

"I'm serious." she told him.

"It does't matter, I was leaving anyway." David laughed.

"I'm telling the truth Dave." Sara yelled after him.

"Well, we should probably be leaving now." Greg said, pulling himself up off the cold floor.

"Yeah." Sara agreed.

"Besides, an empty apartment beckons."

"Greg, how about you come stay with me?"

"Thank you. But I'm fine."

"That wasn't an offer. That was a statement."

"You might want to consider phrasing lessons. Because that sure was phrased as an offer, which I am politely declining."

"And I am politely telling you that you don't have a choice."

"Sara..."

Come on. We can try and beat our record for the longest movie marathon ever."

"Seventeen hours in going to be hard to beat. Besides, what about work?"

"I can call us in sick. Grissom won't mind, he knows what you're going through."

"What about Catherine?"

"She'll still be here when you get back. Maybe you should leave her for a while, see if things get better."

"Sara, we both know things aren't going to get better."

"No, we don't know that for certain. We can wait and see. Now come on."

"Okay. I'll come stay with you."

"Come on then, let's leave right now."

"Can we stop by my place and get some clean clothes?"

"Sure. Leave your car here. We'll pick it up in the morning."

"Okay. Thank you."

"Just never, ever try to leave me again."

"I won't."

And then they headed out to the carpark. The turned on the radio in Sara's car, and drove in relative silence. Comfortable silence. Until a song cam on that shattered the peace without making any noise, said so much without a single sound. They caught each others eyes, and without moving their lips, they smiled. They smiled at the memory that went with the song now playing. They smiled at the recollection of that night, the subconcious feelings, and the realisation of what might have been.

_It was dark outside on the roof. Seventy two days since he had last seen Catherine. And nearly as long since had talked to somebody about anything other than work and his feeble assurances that hewas alright. But that all changes. Because that night, lying out on the roof, playing music on Greg's phone to drown out the sounds of Vegas, he finally opened up to someone. Over chocolate bars and cherry lemonades from the vending machine, Greg told her how he was feeling. He cried for the first time since she'd disapeared, just let the tears run. And they ran deep. That night, Greg told Sar about his mother, how she died and how a small piece of him always blamed himself. Greg told Sara about Catherine, and how empty the apartment was, and how useless he felt unable to do anything to find her. Sara listened to him. And she didn't attempt to comfort him, because she knew he was gone way past that. Comforting him wasn't an option. She just had to be there for him, because at that time, he needed a friend. At some point, Coldplay's "Paradise" had come on._

_When she was just a girl_

_She expected the world_

_But it flew away from her reach so_

_She ran away in her sleep_

_and dreamed of_

_Para-para-paradise, Para-para-paradise, Para-para-paradise_

_Every time she closed her eyes_

_Greg finally finished talking, and had kay out, drained of all words, feelings and energy. Everything he'd had, he'd given away. Greg had poured out the contents of himself to Sara, and was wondering what was really left of him now. What was to become of him now. And Sar had just lay beside him._

_When she was just a girl_

_She expected the world_

_But it flew away from her reach_

_and the bullets catch in her teeth_

_Life goes on, it gets so heavy_

_The wheel breaks the butterfly_

_Every tear a waterfall_

_In the night the stormy night she'll close her eyes_

_In the night the stormy night away she'd fly_

_Sara had taken his hand, as she had done so many times before, yet for the first time, he felt it. His hand felt warm, all of him felt warm. As Sar lay beside him in silent companionship, everything else was beginning to melt away._

_and dreams of_

_Para-para-paradise_

_Para-para-paradise_

_Para-para-paradise_

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh-oh-oh_

_She'd dream of_

_Para-para-paradise_

_Para-para-paradise_

_Para-para-paradise_

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh-oh-oh-oh_

_For a few precious minutes, there was no Catherine. Greg had no worries. For a few precious minutes, he was lying on the roof with his very best friend. And there was nothing else. That was it. For a few precious minutes, Greg really did think that that was all there was, everything else had fizzled away into insignifigance. And for the first time in seventy-two days, he wasn't thinking of Catherine._

_lalalalalalalalalalala_

_And so lying underneath those stormy skies_

_She'd say, "oh, ohohohoh I know the sun must set to rise"_

_And that was when he'd slowly leant towards her and kissed her. He kissed her gently, softly, yet still with the passion of real feelings. And she'd kissed him back. It lasted one minute and three seconds. then the song had ended. And they'd slowly pulled apart._

_This could be_

_Para-para-paradise_

_Para-para-paradise_

_Para-para-paradise_

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh-oh-oh_

_This could be_

_Para-para-paradise_

_Para-para-paradise_

_This could be_

_Para-para-paradise_

_Oh oh oh oh oh oh-oh-oh-oh_

_And laughed. For the first time in seventy two days, Greg laughed, and Sara did too. It was funny, the way he felt after kissing Sara. He'd always assumed that if he ever did kiss his best friend, it would be when they had too much alcohol in their systems to mantain their proper common sense, or at some event like a birthday celebration at some bar or nightclub. He'd never thought that he'd kiss her on the red brick roof of the Crime Lab, when her lips tasted like cherry lemonade, and a Coldplay song was struggling to be heard over the rumble of the Las Vegas night. It was funny because he'd kissed his best friend. And he'd kissed Sara. And he felt nothing. Nothing except happy. Nothing except warm. He didn't feel turned on, or in love. He loved Sara. Had done for a long time. But he wasn't in love with her. Not like he was with Catherine._

_Catherine. Her name tweaked back painful memories and a sharp relisation of where he was, what he was doing, how long it had been sine he saw her, but he pushed it away. And he stayed lying down beside Sara, as her laughter gradually died down into soft giggles. And he allowed himself to feel happy again, for just a few minutes. He allowed himself to feel happy again before he had to go down and look at all the people murdered for no proper reason, the woman he loved that seemed to be missing, the harsh reality of his utter insignifigance in the face of the galaxy. Because for now, it was just him and Sara. And the stars were out. And Florenece and the Machines "Shake it out" was playing. And happy was a good thing._

As they drove to Sara's apartment, indulging in the memories a song could bring back, Greg realised how different things could have been. He could have fallen in love with Sara. They could have been happy. They had the friendship, and the foundation, and they were so comfortable with each other that making the change from friends to something more would have been an easy and painless process. He could have been happy with Sara. If he' never known Catherine. But the difference between Sara and Catherine was a soark. A connection. A pull stronger than gravity. Because that what he and Catherine had. Even if she didn't seem to know it. But as the final notes of "Paradise" drifted out, Greg though of how different it could have been. He thought of how easy it would have been.

As the music dimmed away to the sound of the radio presenters voice, informing them that there were more "great hits and top tunes" coming up, Greg smiled to himself. He smiled at the recollection of that night, the subconcious feelings, and the realisation of what might have been.

**Review if you liked it! And btw, this was my longest chapter EVER... **


	14. Missing Persons

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own CSI**

**I'm so, so, so, so sorry I haven't updated this in ages! As a peace offering, I'll try and get two chapters up today. This one's set in the past, at the same time as Catherine is with Grant. **

* * *

Greg had been working a robbery gone wrong at the Monaco casino with Warrick and Nick for almost eight hours. He was gonna need a lot of overtime. Greg had texted Catherine to tell her he'd be home late, and had been too busy trying to I.D. the three dead tourists, two dead security guards and the one guy in a ski mask that the security had manged to shoot down, to realise that she never replied to him. Plus there were hundreds of people in the casino at the time who needed to be processed and interviewd. It was going to be a long night. Greg was regretting offering to help out with Nick and Warricks case, a 419 at the Tangiers, since their victim was also involved in this elaborate casino heist, and it turned out he should have been at the Monaco tonight. So the cases were related, therefore it was their responsibility.

When they returned to the lab, Greg didn't see Catherine, Sara or Grissom anywhere. Shift had ended two hours ago so it made sense that they would have gone home. Made sense that Catherine was probably waiting for him right now. What didn't make sense was that she still hadn't texted him back. That was starnge. Greg drove back to the apartment he and Catherine had bought three weeks ago, trying a few other times to reach her. But to no avail. When he got back to their apartment, Greg knocked on the door and rang the bell. After a minute he gave up, taking out his keys and unlocking the door for himself. She wasn't there.

"Catherine?" he called out, dialing her cell again.

He heard her phone ringing, and followed the noise until he found the source. Catherines phone lay on her bed, next to her purse and her gun. Now that was really strange. Catherine took her purse everywhere, and didn't like to leave the house without her gun. And her phone. Catherine never went anywhere, even just across to the neighbours to borrow flour, without her cell phone. Greg began to get the sense that something was wrong. He dialed Sara's number.

"Sidle." she answered.

"Sara, it's Greg, do you know where Catherine is?"

"No. When me and Griss got back she was already gone."

"Great." he said sarcastically "Did she say anything to you, have you been in contact with her since then?"

"No. Greg, what's going on?" Sara asked, worried.

"I don't know where she is. She left her phone here and..." Greg said desperately.

"I'll be over as soon as I can." Sara assured him.

True to her word, Sara arrived on his doorstep less than ten minutes later.

"Any news?" she asked.

"Nothing. It's like she just vanished."

"Call Brass." Sara suggested. "I know they technically have to be gone for 48 hours but he knows Catherine. He'll make an exception."

"Alright." Greg nodded, taking out his phone.

* * *

An hour later, Warrick and Grissom were busy talking to all the neighbours and everybody else Catherine knew. Nick was at the lab, looking at Catherine's phone and laptop with Archie. Ecklie and Sofia were scanning the perimeter, and the rest of the dayshift were either watching the traffic cams for Catherines car or looking for Lindsey. Greg and Sara were searching the apartment. Grissom tried to get Greg to go somewhere to sleep, to eat something, to let the others do the case. But Greg wasn't having that. He had to do this. Had to do something. Something to help.

"There doesn't seem to be any signs of a struggle." Sara said.

"Somebody could have cleaned up." Greg insisted.

"I'll get the A.S.L. then, look for blood."

"Okay."

A few minutes later, Sara called Greg into their living room.

"You find blood?" he asked, noticing that she was still holding the A.S.L.

"On the pool table Greg?" she aksed, trying to hold in a laugh.

She wasn't looking at blood. This stain was purple. Semen.

"Maybe I should be the one doing the A.S.L. stuff." he suggested, laughing in spite of the situation.

"No way" she said. "I'm having way too much fun."

"Where else exactly have you searched?" he asked her.

"The bedroom, living room, bathroom." she said, smiling.

"Let me do the kitchen." Greg asked her.

"On the table?" Sara asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Among others." he said, trying to take the A.L.S. off her.

"I have another question for you." Sara said.

"Yeah?" Greg asked.

"What happened in the laundry room?"

"You checked the laundry room?"

"The whole place was purple."

Their laughter was interupted by Sara's phone ringing. It was Nick.

"Catherine had some deleted messages on her cell. They were traced to a disposable phone. They messages contained a link, but when we tried to view it, it said the sender had deleted that too. Archie has been trying to view it, but this guy has got a lot of security. It's impossible. But the message was sent about half an hour after she was scheduled to leave work, so assuming she opened it right away, whatever she saw must have made her leave, since there's no signs of a struggle here." Sara explained to Greg after Nick hung up.

"I got a text from Lance on dayshift, the lady at Lindsey's after school club said Lindsey was picked up by some man she didn't know. She's coming down to the staion now to give a formal statement." Greg told her.

"We can go down in a while, not much left here." Sara offered.

"Yeah, let's finish up." Greg agreed.

* * *

They noticed that one of Catherines jackets was missing, and Grissom and Warrick called them with the news that the man in the flat across the hall had seen Catherine arrive in the house then leave ten minutes later. They had managed to track Catherine's car for a few minutes, until she turned off the main highway onto another road with no traffic cams. Brass had the cops out searching all ppssible routes, and he put out a broadcast on her car. They were running out of options.

"He said his name was Steven."

"And you just let him pick up Lindsey." Brass checked.

"I talked to Ms Willows on the phone, he called her."

"You spoke to Catherine?" Brass asked, sitting further forward in his chair.

"She said Steven was a friend of hers, worked with her."

"Did you get a last name for this Steven guy?" Brass asked her.

"No. He just said he was taking Lindsey to her friends house because Catherine was working."

"Which friend?"

"Laura. Laura Jones, one of Lindsey's best friends."

"Do you have an adress for Laura Jones?"

"Yeah sure, she comes to after school club on Fridays and Tuesdays."

"Alright then." Brass nodded, turning to one of the officers in the room. "Mitch, get this Laura girl's adress of her."

"Sure thing boss." Mitch nodded.

"And Bradley?" Brass said to the other one. "Send one of those artists in here, get her to give the guy a description of this Steven."

"Alright." Bradley said.

"What kind of a car did this guy have? Did you get the plate number?" Brass asked her.

"No. I think it was a truck or a jeep? Red."

"Do you know the brand?"

"No. I didn't get a close enough look."

"Fine." Brass sighed. That would do for now.

* * *

The drive to the Jones residence was fairly quiet. Greg and Grissom sat side by side, united in their desperation to find Catherine. It took them half an hour to get to Laura's house, and when they did, they had to wait another ten minutes for Brass. Finally they were able to knock on the door of the white house in the quaint suburban neighbourhood.

"Hello, can I help you?" a middle aged woman with long brown hair asked.

"I'm Detective Jim Brass, this is Greg Sanders and Gil Grissom from the crime lab, we're here to ask you a few questions."

"Crime lab? You guys work with Catherine?" Mrs Jones asked.

"Yes." Brass nodded.

"Has something happened to her?"

"Unfortunately, Catherine and her daughter are missing."

"Oh my God..." Mrs Jones gasped, leaning against her doorframe for support.

"A man collected Lindsey today from after school club, claiming to be a friend of Catherine's. He said he was dropping her here." Brass explained.

"That's the first I've heard of it."

"So Lindsey wasn't supposed to come play with Laura today?" Brass asked.

"No. Listen, if there's anything I can do to help just let me know." she offered.

"Thank you." Brass nodded. Then they left.

* * *

Greg sat back in the car, suddenly feeling heavy, like there was some invisible force weighing him down. He made it to the car, back to his apartment and found that it had been sealed off with crime scene tape. And so, not even bothering to throw a few neccesities in a bag, he set off to the one place he knew he wouldn't be turned away. His car had been left at the lab, he'd hitched a ride home with Grissom because his supervisor had decided he was too unstable to drive himself home. So it looked like he was walking. And to make things even better, as soon as he stepped outside it began to rain. Barely a drizzle at first, building up to a steady shower of water. By the time he'd made it out of the carpark, it was a torrential downpour. Everybody on the streets went into buildings, shops or home, and all the bright lights of the city turned off or faded into the grey clouds. Vegas was folding itself up and putting itself away. And Greg couldn't ever remeber feeling more alone. His hair was plastered onto his face, his clothes were saturated, only adding to the weight dragging him down. He walked for nearly an hour. When he reached Sara Sidles door, all the energy left him. He collapsed, right there on her doorstep, the rain beating down on and around him, his will to stand, walk, speak, live slowly fading away. It was an hour before she noticed him, lying in a heap in front of her door. Sara dragged him in and was considering calling an ambulance when his eyelids fluttered open, water spilling out of his slightly parted lips and his body limp in her arms.

"Greg?" she whispered, shocked at the emptiness behind his eyes and the small moan which came from his blue lips.

"Sara.." he said coarsely, his voice impossibly dry despite the fact that he was soaked to the skin. "police tape...need place to stay..."

Sara was silent, she just pulled him into a tight embrace, clutching him to her chest. She could feel dampness spreading into her shirt, and wasn't sure if it was the rainwater in Greg's hair or the tears she was certain he was crying. She also wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, Sara on her knees and Greg half lying on the floor, half supported by Sara. He cired silently and she slowly rocked him back and forth until he finally fell asleep. Then Sara tucked him up in the guest bedroom, taking his shoes off first and hanging his soaking wet jacket out to dry. She sighed and hoped that everything was just a miunderstanding, and that Catherine would be back the next day. Or even some time soon. But she wasn't.


	15. Forever

**DISCLAIMER: does anybody actually read this thing? Anyway, I don't own CSI.**

**Okay, this chapter goes back to the future. I just love saying that! Anyway, nothing much else to say about this without giving it away so em... there will be lot's of Greg in this chapter? Whatever, you'll just have to read and find out!**

* * *

"Female caucassian, mid to late twenties. C.O.D. appears to be gunshot wound to the right temple." Jim Brass told them, as Grge and Sara ducked under the crime scene tape.

"Hardly any blood." Sara observed.

"Body dump?" Greg suggested.

"She's well dressed, doesn't really fit in in this neighbourhood anyway." Sara agreed.

"Probably killed somewhere else. Any I.D. Super Dave?" Greg asked the coroners assistant, who was leaning down by the body.

"Here we go." he replied, passing a drivers license to Greg.

"Olivia Roberts." he told Sara.

"From California." Sara added, reading over Greg's shoulder.

"Tourist." Greg said.

"T.O.D.?" Sara asked David, who was taking her liver temperature.

"About three to five hours ago." he told them, turning her over.

"Quite a few people pass by here. Strange that nobody noticed her." Greg said to Sara, looking around.

"Mainly homeless people, drug dealers and hookers." Sara observed.

"Not the type who want to call the cops." Greg added.

"Purse has been cleaned out." Sara noticed, picking up the small black bag lying beside her.

"Maybe robbery is the motive?" Greg offered.

"Or a random passerby decided to take advantage of the situation." Sara suggested.

They were interupted y the tingly ringtone of Greg's phone.

"Sorry, mind if I.." he asked her, gesturing to his pocket.

"Go ahead." she smiled, taking a photo of the body.

After a brief phone call, only half of which could be heard from Sara's side of the phone, mostly containing yeah, ok and alright, Greg hung up. She looked up at him quizzically.

"It's the hospital. They want to talk to me. Should I..."

"Just go. I can finish up here." Sara smiled, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

"She said she couldn't do it over the phone. You think she's..." Greg began, not wanting to say it.

"No. Catherine's perfectly healthy. Just the memory thing. Maybe she remembers you?" Sara suggested, watching his eyes light up at the possibility.

"Maybe. I better go. Thanks Sara." He smield back, ducking under the crime scene tape again and making his way back to the Denali.

"Good luck." She yelled after him.

* * *

Greg drove to the hospital as quickly as he could, running red lights and pushing the speed limit to the max. While he was driving, he listened to the radio, and laughed at the number of soppy love songs that were playing. The songs identified love as a feeling, a sensation. At that Greg laughed, a cold, heartless laugh. Love was not a feeling. It was an infection. His attemptsto play the game of love had made him wise beyond his years, as only a man who's seen to much can be. He knew what love was. It was not that happy, warm feeling you get when you think you've found the right one. It's not the heat, intensity and fire when you look into the eyes of somebody you want. It's not the throes of pleasure you feel after sleeping with somebody. It's not even the way you feel when you've laughed at some pointless joke or smiled at some little thing that makes yourday. It was a game. And he didn't have the controls. Nobody ever did. It was all controlled by some greater force, some force Greg must have really pissed off because he did a pretty good job of screwing up Greg's love life. Love was an endless shift of power, a never-ending chase. Love was a game of kill or be killed, lie or be lied to. Love was a challenge, a challenge rarely accepted, and never won. And anybody who said it was a choice had never been in love before. Love was not a choice. Same way as jumping off a cliff into the unknown was not a choice. The funny thing was, after you'd jumped off the cliff, you expected to either soar into the clouds or fall into the ice cold-water and razor sharp rocks. In reality, love was a mixture of both. The ever-cliched ups and downs. And normally they ended on downs. The problem with love was that you had to give evrything. You had to lay yourself out, put all your cards on the table, leave nothing untold. Scars were opened, secrets were told and you had to trust the other person to keep them covered. When everything was out, you had everything to loose. It was like poker. You gave everything you had in the hope you could multiply it, but more often than not you lost, and then you lost everything. Love was when you gave it all, got it all, had it all and then lost it all again and again. When you built yourself up, climbed to the top only to be knocked down again. When you went from euphoria to dysphoria, ecstacy to anguish, deliria to despression time and time again. And when you didn't mind, because the good times made up for the bad even if the ratio was a million to one. Love was a never ending cycle, that could rain you of all energy, life, ability to carry on. And it was the only form of torture that you never wanted to end. Greg hadn't chosen to fall in love. In fact, he wished he could take it all back. But e couldn't step away. Because somewhere between the mutual attraction, the instant chemistry, lust of so many moments, he had tumbled into love with Catherine Willows. And would continue to tumble to the ends of the earth. And that was love.

The drive was a quick one, and within fifteen minutes, four cheesy love songs and a lot of deep thoughts, he arrived at the hospital. He resumed to run, knocking over trolleys and bumping into people, leaving a mess of chaos behind in his wake. He ran straight through the reception, sending a shock of pain through his body as his stomach collided with the recpetionists desk.

"Greg Sanders." he said breathlessly.

"Ah yes, Mr Sanders. Nurse Dora wanted to speak with you. She said somebody remembers you and wants to talk to you?" the receptionist asked.

In that moemtn, his heart soared. She remembered. Greg wanted to jump up and down, dance in joy. But he had other things to do. Like seeing the woman he loved. He brought the pink-fingernailed hand of the receptionist, who had broguht him the best news he'd had in two years, to his lips and kissed it happily, before starting to run off to nowhere in particular.

"Thank you." he called, as he plowed on in his haste to find Catherine.

"Don't you want to know where she is?" the receptionist asked him, still trying to recover from the shock.

"Yes." he replied, running back, this time managing not to bump into the desk this time.

"Third door on the left." she told him.

"Thank you." Greg said again, pausing to take a flower out of the vase on the desk and take it with him as he began to run again, this time in the right direction.

"Am I being punked?" the receptionist asked, looking around her in shock.

"Guys? Am I on camera?" she yelled to the others walking by, confused by what had just happened.

"This is one of those new reality tv shows, right?" she asked, getting no reply. She looked at the hand the crazy guy had kissed, waiting for it to explode or burst into flames. She looked around for the camera crew, charming host in a well fitting suit, or group of producers and dierectors, finding nothing. A minute later, she popped another piece of gum into her mouth and turned over the page of her VOGUE magazine, convinced she had imagined it all.

* * *

Meanwhile, Greg had reached the third door on the left, where he found a nurse in scrubs. Her name badge proclaimed her to be Dora.

"She remembers me?" was the first thing he sai when he saw her.

"Yes. She asked to talk to Greg Sanders." Dora confirmed, smiling up at him.

"Not Gregory Sandson?" he checked.

"No. Greg Sanders. The CSI, right?" She asked.

"That's me." Greg grinned, breathing in a sigh of relief.

"Perfect. Well, since she's remembering, there's no reason why she shouldn't go home right now, so if you'll just sign some release forms we can..." the nurse began, ut Greg cut her off.

"Can I just see her first? Please?" He asked.

"Alright then. She'll be happy to see you." Nurse Dora smiled.

"Second floor, fifth door on the right." she told him, opening the door and letting him out.

Greg didn't even stop to say thank you. He just ran, somehow navigating himself to the correct room as if operating on auto pilot, for he wasn't thinking of anything but Catherine. He pushed the door open and looked around the room. His eyes were blind to anything but Catherine which explains why he didn't see her for a minute. The only thing he saw was the lack of the woman he loved. He was plunged back to reality when her small voice shattered everything he had felt in the last few minutes.

"Greg?"

He was forced to look at her. The litrle blonde girl with tears in her eyes, staring at him and begging him to help her.

"Lindsey." he said, his voice coarser than gravel.

"Greg." she sobbed, throwing herself into his arms, the contact shcoking him back to reality.

"Lindsey, does your mum remember anything?" he begged.

"No. She thinks that I'm still called Lucy..."

"Lucy?" he asked.

"He called me Lucy... and he...he..." she wept.

"Here, it's alright. We can talk about him later. How are you feeling?" Greg comforted, sitting down next to her on the bed.

"Scared. And lonely." Lindsey said. At that, Greg felt a pang. This whole time, he'd been so budy with Catherine that he hadn't even thought about Lindsey. Greg hadn't asked anybody how she was doing, hadn't stopped by to visit her, hadn't even remembered her existance. And she was a person too. A scared and lonely person. One that Greg hadn't been there for.

"Well, we can fix that. I'll take you back home, you can sleep in your old room. Get a good rest, then tomorrow we can talk. Come on, I just need to sign some forms." Greg assured her.

"You'll take me back home?" She asked.

"Yeah." Grge nodded.

"And you'll look after me?" she asked him.

"Forever." Greg promised.

"Thank you." She whispered, hugging him again.

* * *

The drive back to the apartment was passed in silence, Lindsey fell asleep in the backseat, leaving Greg to his thoughts.

Catherine still didn't remember him. She still had no idea who he was. She didn't love him. She didn't understand anything. And now he had Lindsey. Her scared, lonely daughter. He remembered when Lindsey was two. When Greg was the one to feed her, change her, put her clothes in the washer so she'd have something clean and dry to wear. Greg had been the one to make her laugh while Catherine was high, or when she was low. Greg had been the one to hide the sleeping pilld her mother dosed her with when she wouldn't stop crying. Greg had been the one to tuck her up in bed, sit her in front of the television, gibe her books and toys to keep her happy while he was gone. Whenever Lindsey fell over, she would stay there, screamin until Greg came over. He had always been the one to pick her up.

And for the first time, he felt angry with Catherine. He was mad. Because he was sick of cleaning up after her messes. If she didn't want a kid, didn't want to care for one, why did she even let herself get pregnant with Lindsey in the first place? Greg knew he was being unfair, Catherine was raped, Lindsey wasn't exactly a choice, and the past years he'd known her she'd been a perfect mother. But he was too angry to care. And he liked having someone to blame for his screwed up life. Catherine. Annoyed, Greg punched the steering wheel, accidentally honking the horn loudly. Lindsey still didn't wake up. Then Greg heard a stronger, louder beep and his eyes almost burned with the bright lights suddenly shining into his eyes. The truck was driving right towards him, seemingly unable to stop. And for just a second, Greg thought of just how perfect it would be. It could all end here. And technically, it wouldn't be his fault. It wouldn't be suicide. It would be an unfortuante car accident. But he knew that wouldn't make it any easier for his friends. Knew Sara would still be heartbroken. But it wasn't her that made him suddenly slam on the accelerator and swerve left. It was Lindsey. The beautiful ten year old with the blonde hair falling in her face as she lay asleep in the backseat of his car, her perfect blue eyes closed, protecting her from the world momentarily. "Forever." he had promised her. And right now he was all she had, and she was all he had too. So he swerved, and the truck drove on, the collision avoided and the lives safe.

That was when Greg realised that he loved Lindsey too. Almost as much as he loved Catherine, but in a completely different way. She was like his own daughter. And it was then that he realised he'd missed her too. His mind had been so full of nothing but Catherine for so long that he hadn't realised how much he missed her hugs, the way she giggled at his silly jokes and playfully forced him to play Princesses or Ponies or Fairies or whatever her knewest game was. He missed having her around the house. He missed her a lot.

"Greg?" Lindsey asked sleepily, the sudden movement of the car jolting her out of sleep. Her abrupt return from dreamyland made her look around in confusion, unsure of her surroundings. She blinked a few times, and shook her head to wake herself up properly.

"I'm here Lindsey." he assured her.

"You're here." she whispered.

"I'll always be here." he told her, as they pulled into the carpark.

"Forever." she remembered.

Greg reached back and took her small hand in his, squeezing it lightly, as for now, she was the only girl he had to protect, the only girl he could call his. "Forever." he whispered. There was a promise in those words. A promise he would never break.

Forever.

**And that's the end. JUST KIDDING! Sorry, am a little high on M&Ms and sprite. This is not the end, there will be more chapters yet to come. And they'll come even quicker if you review! **


	16. Maybe it was a coincedence

**This chapter is set in the past, and it kind of jumps back and forth from P.O.V.s. Mainly Catherine, but there is also some Greg and a miniature ammount of Lindsey and Grant. Hope you like, please review if you're reading, even if you don't like it. I want to hear from you! **

When Catherine Willows woke up, the first thing that came to her mind was a picture of a guy with spiky, sandy coloured hair. The second thought she had was who the hell this guy was and why he was in her head. She had a strong feeling she knew this guy from somewhere, but she just couldn't remember where. Shaking her head to clear the confusing image from her mind, Catherine got out of her double bed and stumbled to the kitchen, still a little rocky on her feet having just woken up. She poured herself a glass of orange juice and popped some bread in the toaster. Lindsey was sitting in front of the television eating cereal.

"Hey Lindsey, eat that over at the table." Catherine asked the blonde.

"But I'm watching this." she protested, not taking her eyes off the screen.

"You'll spill it all over the sofa." Catherine warned her.

"I won't." she answered.

"You wouldn't eat on the sofa in somebody elses house so why do it in ours?"

"It's not..." Lindsey began, the her voice trailed off. What was the point?

"What are you saying honey?" Catherine asked.

"It doesn't matter." Lindsey mumbled, getting up.

"You okay?" Catherine asked.

"Fine." she replied, before storming out.

"Lindsey do you not want your cereal?" Catherine yelled after her.

There was no answer. It was strange, Lindsey had been acting very wierd lately. Or had she? Try as she might, Catherine could not think of one other example of strange behavioiur from Lindsey. Or normal behaviour. SHe couldn't remember what she'd said yesterday, what they'd done yesterday. She looked around the room she was in. Why did she come in here?

Everything was just so strange. Then Catherine remembered. The other day they'd gone to the cinema, the three of them. They'd hat meatloaf for dinner. And Lindsey kept walking away and not finishing conversations. Also hadn't she just done something strange just there? What was it again? And why was there a bowl of half eaten cereal on the arm of the sofa?

"Lindsey! Is this your..." her voice trailed off as she remembered again. The conversation they'd had minutes ago came back to her. That was odd. She'd forgotten all about it. And she'd just forgotten something else a minute ago. What was it she'd forgotten? It didn't matter anyway, she assured herself.

Catherine wandered off into the bathroom, passing Lindsey on the way who was sitting on her bed was something strange about her. What was it again?

She locked the bathroom door behind her, pulling the light switch ad illuminating the dark room on her way in. Catherines towel was on the towel rack, same as always. She turned on the shower and slowly undressed, folding her clothes neatly and putting them on the bathroom shelf. As soon as Catherine stepped into the hot water, she felt her troubles slipping away. The best thing about being in the shower was she didn't have to wonder about what was happening, or be confused by the wierd thoughts in her head. She just had to breathe and wash her hair. And she remembered how to do that.

Across the town, there was another shower running. And in it stood somebody else who wasn't enjoying it so much as she was.

Greg Sanders had forgotten how lonely it was showering alone. He found himself shivering, despite the boiling water cascading down onto his skin. His hair lay plastered across his face, he didn't really feel like washing it right now. He hadn't felt like washing it in a long time. It just hung there, on his head. It had grown long, and though it had been long before, this was a different long. He couldn't see very well because it was always falling in his eyes, and the way he flipped it off his face had made Hodges make some comment comparing him to Justin Bieber. Greg had nearly killed him. Apparently, Lindsey had liked Justin Bieber.

These moments when Greg just lost it were happening more and more frequently. Warrick had made some comment about exotic dancers, when working a case he'd accidentally called her a hooker and Greg had gone crazy. He would have actually hit him if Nick hadn't been there to grab his arms and drag him away. Even though Warrick apologised profusely and said it was an honest mistake, Greg still looked at him with anger in his eyes. Obviously, he didn't like anybody saying anything bad about Catherine anyway. But when she wasn't even there to defend herself, wasn't there with Greg, it got a hundred times worse. He had nearly gotten fired when he yelled at the undersheriff for complaining about how Catherine's disapearance had left them shorthanded.

And his hair wasn't the only thing that had grown. He often couldn't be bothered shaving, and allowed his normally clean shaven face to becoms slightly stubbly. Also, all his clothes had grown. Or so it appeared. The reality was that after eating less and less, either because everything reminded him of Catherine, he was too busy trying to find her, or he just didn't feel like food, he had started to lose weight. A lot of weight. Greg Sanders didn't even look like himself anymore. His nails were chewed right down to the bottom, his hands red because he never stopped working, his face pale and lifeless, his posture slumped. Yes, Greg Sanders was slowly receeding into himself.

He looked around the shower, realsing how big it was when he was the only one in it. Realising how empty it seemed. Realising that there was a cold spot where she would normally havestood, not warmed up by the warm water, and the ground underneath it was barely wet. It was like physics had reserved a spot for her, a place among the particles and molecules and whatever the hell else the earth was made up of. He'd stop caring about that stuff ages ago. Science, not Catherine. Greg tought about how long ago it had been when he'd last showered alone. Before Catherine was... gone... he would only shower by himself if it was absolutely neccesary, if he or she was in a rush, or one of them wasn't there. And that wasn't very often.

He tried not to think about what they would be doing if Catherine was here right now. Greg had a feeling it would probably have Catherine pressed up against the cold shower wall, with her legs wrapped around his waist screaming him name. And he found that he didn't miss that. Well, he missed it a little, he was still a man, but he would rather hve her to talk to, to hold in his arms, to go do all that stuff they always wanted to do together before the chance got taken away again. He missed the sound of her voice.

The hot water was beginning to run out, and the temperature in the shower dropped several degrees until it was unbearably cold. Eventually, his whole body blue, Greg got out of the shower. He wrapped himse;f in a towel and went to get changed. He wore a pair of grey sweatpants and an old Stanford hoody. Not only could he not be bothered dressing nicely any more, but his good clothes were all hung up in the wardrobe. Which contained all of her clothes too. And he hadn't opened it since the day she left, for he knew that when he did, her scent would hit him. He would be surrounded by here, memories he wouldn't forget. And he knew he wouldn't be able to take it.

For one of the first times since Catherine had... gone... Greg considered ending it all now. He considered going to the cupboard and taking some pills, going to the kitchen and taking a knife, going to his field kit and taking his gun. But he knew he wouldn't do it. She had been missing for two months. There was a chance she was still out there somewhere. After the case had been declared cold and officially shelved, people had come to sympathise with Greg, to pat him on the back and ask if he was alright. And he was. Well, he wasn't. He wasn't alright because the woman he loved was gone. But he didn't feel any worse when the case was shelved. Because it wasn't over, by any means. It wasn't over for him. Greg was never going to stop searching.

He didn't know that the person he was searching for didn't even know how much she wanted to be found.

Catherine stepped out of the shower, and slipped into the jeans and string top on the shelf. When she unlocked the door and went to the bedroom to dry her strawberry blonde hair, she noticed Linsey was sitting on the bed. A sense of deja vu washed over her, but she couldn't explain it. She rarely could. An hour later, Grant got home from work.

When he called her name as he opened the front door, her first feeling was one of dislike. She did not like Grant. But why? She had a strong feeling of dislike at the sound of his voice,, just the thought of him. But what had he done again? She could feel in somewhere, btu couldn't quite reach. If she didn't remember, maybe he hadn't done anything. Maybe it was best just to to get over it and be nice to him?

"Catherine!" he called out, and she felt that intolerable dislike again. A feeling that strong had to come from somewhere. Whatever about her memory, she had to trust her instincts. So she didn't reply.

He came to find her.

"Hey Catherine." he smiled.

"Grant." she replied snippily, in a voice that could be compared to David Hodges, if not for the fact that her memories of him were replaced with deja vu and a picture in her head that woulkdn't quite materialise.

"You mad at me or something?" he asked.

"Yes." she told him, figuring the truth was best. She just wished she knew what it was herself.

"What did I do?" He asked.

"I don't know." she sighed.

"Oh Cath, not this again. You were like this on Wednesday too." he complained.

Was she? She couldn't remember. What day was it today? Monday? Yes, she was almost certain it was Monday. So Wednesday was a while ago. Five days. So it made sense that she didn't remember it right?

"You were fine yesterday." he said accusingly.

Was it bad that she couldn't remember that either?

"Come on, let's go out. That new restaraunt has opened up on Henderson." he pleaded.

"Can we bring..." damn it, what was her name again? "...Lindsey. Can we bring Lindsey?" Catherine asked.

"Sure. Now go get changed into something nice." Grant smiled. Just the sght of it make her stomach churn. And yet she didn't know why.

"Okay." she nodded, glad to be away from the confusion that surrounded his presence.

As she went to her room and pulled out clothes she didn't remember owning, Catherine realised she was feeling excited. She had no recollection of hearing about this new restaraunt, so she doubted it was that. Thenshe realised she wanted to get out of the house. She wanted to leave and be among other people. But why? If she wanted to leave, surely she could do it any time? She walked over to the door. It was locked, she tried all the others, and the windows and realised they were locked too. Where were the keys? Why couldn't she get out? Deja vu was strong now, and whatshe was doing felt so familiar that Catherine guessed she had done it many times. But why? Why couldn't she remember it?

"Grant?" she called.

"Yes?" he answered, coming out into the front hallway.

"Why are the doors locked?" she asked him, testing it once more.

"Oh." He said. Catherine couldn't have sworn she heard him mutter 'not again' strengthening the feeling that she had done this before.

"Grant?" she reminded.

"Here, look em... come sit down and have a cup of coffee, I'll explain." Grant said, gesturing towards the kitchen.

She followed him into the kitchen, where he gave her a cup of coffee. She took a sip from it.

"So?" she asked.

"So what?" he asked her.

"So... wait..." Catherine rakced her memory for the answer. She knew there was something important that she had to say.

"What were you saying?" he asked, a smile on his face.

"I don't remember. It's probably nothing." she shrugged.

"Alright. So, are you ready?" he asked her.

"For what again?" Catherine couldn't remember what had happened. And on top of that, her head was starting to throb. It did that often after she ate or drunk anything Grant gave her. Not that she remembered.

"We're going to go out for dinner." he reminded her.

"Oh right." she smiled back.

"Come on then." Grant said.

She got dressed in the clothes somebody had lain out on the bed. Maybe it was her? Who knows. They went for dinner in the restraunt, and Grant told Catherine funny stories about his day at work. Lindsey was quiet, she ate her food without talking or laughing once and kept looking around her and asking to go to the bathroom. Grant asked her politely to wait until the end of the meal, and afterwards, Catherine went with her. She was only eight after all.

Grant made her laugh, and the stories and jokes he told her stopped her from thinking about all the things she couldn't remember and what a muddle her life was to her. She remembered being a child, living with her mother, and she remembered going to Las Vegas to get a job. Everything after that was a blur. She felt guilty to say this, but she didn't remember her daughter at all. Or who this mysteriously spiky-haired guy the kept thinking of was. She didn't remember Grant, but she liked him. He was familiar to her, and sometimes when he said something she would feel deja vu, mostly it was bad. Occasionally she would have this feeling of dislike for him but she obviously didn't act on it. Catherine was sure she would never do that, especially when she couldn't remember what he had done to her.

Just after they had ordered, Grant went in to speak to the chef. They were old friends he said. As soon as he shut the door to the kitchen, Lindsey pulled at her moms arm.

"Come on mom, let's go." Lindsey whispered.

"Go where?" Catherine asked her daughter, staying in her chair.

"Away from Grant." she urged.

"Lindsey. Grant is a lovely man. What is the matter with you?" Catherine scolded.

"He's not mom, just run, he'll be back soon." Lindsey insisted.

"Stop pulling my arm. And sit down and behave." She warned her daughter.

"But Mom..." Lindsey protested.

"No buts. Sit down." Catherine repeated.

"Fine." Lindsey groaned.

"There's a good girl." Catherine smiled.

"Whatever." her daughter replied, with way too much attitude for somebody who wasn't even nine yet.

Grant came back and the three of them waited for their food to arrive. Lindsey's pizza came first. Grant and Catherine had both ordered spaghetti. The waitress placed a plate down in front of Catherrine, whp passed it down the table to Grant.

"No, no." he said, passing it back. "You have this one."

That was wierD. But she shrugged her shoulders and took the plate back, allowing the waitress to pass the other one down the table to Grant. They ate together, and it was starting to get dark by the time they got home. As she slid into bed, Catherine had a very strong feeling that she had done something terrible. That she had forgotten to do something very important. That she had missed a chance.

As Greg lay down on his bed, he realised that even though it was one of the best beds money could buy, king sized, memory foam matress, an egyptian cotton duvet, it wasn't even comfortable anymore. He realised that what had made it comfortable wasn't the bed itself, or the matress or duvet. It wasn't the memory foam pillows and fluffy cushions. It wasn't the silk blanket Greg's mother had brought him back from India. It was the person he'd been sharing it with. Greg still couldn't bear to sleep at Catherines side. There was an invisible barrier at the half way line, an impassable line. Greg thought of all the mroning when he would wake up with her head resting on his chest, her legs entangled with his. It was strange, because he'd been thinking it for so long, it hjad always been on his mind, but Greg suddenly realised that he'd never said it. Everybody knew, they all guessed, and most of them agreed, but he had never actually said it before. It was so easy to see, given the circumstances, that he hadn't ever said it. He'd never needed to say it. But now, lying all alone in the most uncomfortable bed he'd ever lay on, he realised that he needed to say it. Because perhaps saying it was the only way he could let it go. Greg realised that he had to let it go. He couldn't keep holding onto it, because it wasn't getting him anywhere. It wasn't helping him to find her, it wasn't bringing her closer to him. All it was doing was causing him more pain. And maybe if he said it, it would go away. And take all the pain with it. Take all the feelings with it. And so Greg closed his eyes.

"I miss you." he said slowly. The dark, empty room swallowed his words up, for it was so full of nothing that everything was sucked into it. And suddenly the dark empty room wasn't as empty or dark. Because the only thing empty and dark was Greg. He'd let go of the one thought that had been refusing to go away, the only thing that was constant in his life. And now he was empty.

"I miss you." he said again, louder now, even though he knew she could not hear it.

And then, for the first night since she had gone, Greg didn't cry himself to sleep. Because he had no more tears. No more feelings. When his friends next saw him, they'd realise that he was different. Colder, harder, and yet stronger. He looked the same, talked the same, sounded the same. But he wasn't. For he had let go of his emotions and nothing could hurt him anymore.

But he still missed her.

On the other side of town, Catherine was sleeping peacefully in her bed, unaware of the mess she was causing. Grant was sitting at his desk, organising the final phase of his master plan. And it was a very good one. He and Greg were very different people. But there were four things they had in common. One, they both took pride in their hair. Two, they were both determined, and a little stubborn. Three, they were both in love with Catherine Willows. And four, they were both emotionless. They had both discarded them so they would not feel pain anymore, and when Grant laughed at the perfect scheme he had concoxed, it was a dry, heartless laugh. The laugh of a man with no feelings. Greg didn't want to feel pain, sorrow, loss. Grant just wanted to rid himself of his conscience. Under the same roof, Lindsey was not asleep either. And she was certainly not emotionless. Lindsey cried, and the tears staining her pillowcase mixed in with the tears that had been cried by Greg, the tears cried by Nick and Warrick and Sara and Grissom, the tears cried by Catherines mother Lily. And the tears that somewhere up in heaven, Sam Braun was crying too. Maybe that's why it was raining.

Or maybe that was just a coincidence.


	17. Getting better, getting worse

**This chapters set in the future, and after the first paragraphd, it goes back and forth from Gregs POV (the dialogue bits) and Catherines (the other bits) enjoy it!**

Greg lay fast asleep in what he had once considered to be the most comfortable bed ever, tossing and turning. He was awakened by the bedroom door opening. And there, stood in front of him, was Catherine Willows.

"Catherine." he breathed, suddenly not tired at all.

"Greg." she whispered, walking over to the bed they used to share.

"Do you remember?" he asked, hardly daring to hope.

"I remember." she nodded.

"Oh God you don't know how much I've missed you." Greg cried, pulling her into his arms.

"Thank you for finding me Greg."

"I would have never stopped looking."

"What did I do to deserve you?"

"Catherine, I love you so much."

"I love you too Greg. I promise never to leave you again." and with that she crashed her lips against his, falling onto the bed next to him.

"I'd almost forgotten what your lips tasted like." he smiled.

"You'll never have to forget again."

And then, all of a sudden, the lyrics of "Feel Like Making Love" were blurting out, so loudly that Greg tried to find the source of the noise. But he couldn't and it wouldn't stop. And then he fell off a cliff.

"Ow..." Greg murmured, rubbing his head were he had banged it off the ground. He looked around and discovered he was on the floor of his bedroom, completely alone, and his cellphone was ringing loudly underneath his pillow, his ringtone, "Feel Like Making Love" blaring loudly. And then he realised something else. It had been a dream.

It was all a stupid, earth-shatteringly amazing dream. Part of him wished he hadn't dreamed it, for then he wouldn't have woken up feeling so happy only to have his hopes dashed again. Another part of him wished he would never have woken up. Why did he have to wake up? Why did it have to end? He was happy. For just a few moments he was happy. But then of course it all had to get taken away. Would hapiness be too much to ask? Would it be so terrible to let him be happy for more than two minutes? Would it be the end of the world if he was given back the one thing that made him happy? Probably. The only place he could find happiness was in his dreams. And even those weren't allowed to last very long. Why the hell had he woken up?

Then he remembered. The phone., It had stopped ringing now, but it had been the source of his cruel awakening. His iphone. The best that money could buy. Because he had the money. But money couldn'y buy love. Or happiness. It could just buy you iphones and expensive coffee and a big apartment that permanently felt empty. Even that one time he'd tried to kill himself and had almost succeeded, and everybody he knew was in his house, it was still empty. Because she wasn't there. And it wasn't fair.

He had a missed call. From Matt. Matt? Greg tried to think when the last time he'd heard from him had been. It had been two years ago, at Joeys wedding. Why was he calling him? And at two o clock in the morning? Then he realized it was actually two in the afternoon. He'd just slep in really late. Lindsey was with her grandmother for the night, who was delighted to have her back. So Matt was justified in ringing him. But why? I mean, sure, they had been inseperable in college, but that was a long time ago. He was married now, with three kids, a dog, and a house in the suburbs of Chicago. He and Greg weren't in the same circle anymore. Greg wasn't in the same circle as anyone anymore. He was on his own, silently circling the universe by himself. The outer circle. So what did Matt have to ssay to him anymore. Then it hit him. When did you contact people you hadn't talked to in ages? Christmas, weddings and deaths. And since it was summertime and Matt, Joey and Karl were already married, that only left deaths. Either Joey or Karl must be dead. It couldn't be Matt, because he'd just phoned him, and dead people couldn't use phones.

* * *

There was only one way to find out. Greg hit redial and listened to the phone ringing for several seconds, a seemingly agonizing wait when one of his college bestfriends might be dead, and eventually Matt picked up.

"Greg man?" he certainly sounded happy. And alive.

"Matt? You rang me?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry, I was sleeping."

"Oh that's cool."

"Is something going on?"

"Not really."

"Nobodies dead?"

"Not that I know of, why?"

"Well, we haven't spoken that much recently and I figured…."

"Oh. No way man, we're all alive."

"Phew. So what is it?"

"We're in Vegas."

"Wait we?"

"As in me, Joey and Karl."

"Right now?"

"Yeah. We thought we'd surprise you. You up for a night out?"

"I dunno, I'm kinda tired and…."

"Greg. We're her for one night only. We took time off from our wives and kids and other lives. All we're asking you for is one night. We came here for you man."

"Alright then. Fine. I'll come."

"Yeah! It will do you good to forget about Catherine for a while."

"How do you know she's…."

"Some Sara person called me, asked if we would come down for a night to cheer you up. She filled me in."

"Oh."

"Listen man, what happened to you, that was rough. But it would be good to take your mind off her for one night. "

"OK then. I'll be there."

"Great. Six o clock at Ed's diner. Wait, that does still exist right?"

"Yeah. And then onto the French Palace after? Would your wives be cool with that?"

"Sure they would, but you sure you can handle going there?"

"I think I need to."

"Yeah. I hear you man. We'll see you at Ed's."

"See you."

Greg hung up the phone and immediately noticed something. He was looking forward to going out tonight. It was good to be looking forward to something. He'd spent so much time looking back at things, thst it was good to look into the future. To have something that he wanted to do later, instead of something from the past he wished he was still doing now. Maybe he should try it more often.

* * *

Her eyes were burning. But it was dark in the room.

Her ears were ringing. But nobody was speaking.

Her head was throbbing. But there wasn't any noise.

Her heart was aching. But she didn't know why.

Her memory was coming back. But she didn't recognise it.

* * *

"Oh God….oh yeah…..that's good…"

"Umm… Greg? Can I come in or are you like, busy?"

"It's the breakroom Nick, sure you can come in."

"Was there somebody else here?"

"Nope, just me and my coffee."

"Blue Hawaiin?"

"Yeah. It's so good."

"Greg you've been drinking that stuff for years and today you go all….. weird?"

"It hadn't been doing much for me lately. And I hadn't drunk any in ages. But then today, I found my secret stash hidden in one of the cupboards and I was like 'what the hell, I'm gonna try some of this.' And I did and Oh God it was so good… I'd forgotten how good this stuff was. It's like mmmmmmm so good…"

"Okay Greg. I think you've used the word good enough times already. Why are you even here anyway? Griss gave you time of until… you know…."

"I just figured, why not come in for a bit. See everyone."

"Why are you so happy?"

"I'm going out tonight."

"You are? That's great man. It'll do you good. With who?"

"My old friends from college. Sara called them."

"That's good. And you're looking forward to it?"

"Yeah. It's weird. After what happened with Catherine, I thought I'd never be able to move on again. I thought I'd be stuck on her forever. But I'm starting to realize that might not be the case."

"So wait, are you over her?"

"No. Not at all. I mean, there's still not a passing second when I don't think of her, and I still don't think I could ever love anybody else. Just that I'm starting to find little bits of joy in other things too."

"Like your coffee?"

"Mmmmm… yeah. Like my coffee."

"Well, I'm happy for you."

"Thanks."

"You know, I've been starting tio forget what your coffee tastes like too…."

"Go ahead. Third drawer on the right."

"Thank you."

"No problem. But this isn't to become a regular thing, gettit?"

"Gottit."

* * *

What was happening? Everything was a mess.

The things she thought she knew were morphing into the things she had benn expected to know.

The people she remembered were morphing into the people who had been upset at being forgotten.

The life she thought was hers was morphing into the one everybody thought had been hers.

The person she thought she loved was morphing into the one people w=thought she should love.

Everything was morphing into big, gloopy, undistinguishable shapes until she didn't know which was which.

She didn't know anything any more.

* * *

"Grissom? I don't think this was a suicide."

"You don't?"

"No. Something is off."

"Hands tested positive for GSR. The gun was in her hand. There's no voids in the blood to indicate another person was here. And she even left a note."

"Suicide note. Let me have a look at that."

"Sure."

"This is weird."

"What?"

"See the way she put a little loop on this 'm' but not this one."

"True. But other than that, the writing is all the same. Look, it's the same with this 'd' There's no loop on it but there is one this 'd'."

"And there's loops on two out of four 'r's. And on the u. But there's only one 'u' so that could be a coincidence."

"A loop on the last 'e' aswell. This really is strange."

"Do you have a pen and paper?"

"Sure. What are you thinking?"

"M, D, R, R, U, E."

"You think it's a clue?"

"I think it's…." Greg quickly reassembled the letters before holding the page up to Grissom. "M-U-R-D-E-R."

"She left us a message. Good work Greg."

"Thanks. So now we just need a suspect."

"It's good to have you back."

"Good to be back."

* * *

She was running away from home.

She was on the streets.

She was getting tiny, filthy apartment.

She was dancing on a stage.

She had a tiny baby that she didn't even want.

He was hitting her.

And his name was Grant.

* * *

"Greg. What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was at home, and I figured why not! I've been helping Grissom with his case."

"You look good."

"Are you flirting with me Miss Sidle?"

"Oh sure I am. But really. You look better."

"Thank you. I feel better."

"You gelled you hair up again?"

"Yeah. I'd forgotten how good I look."

"Good isn't the word I'd use."

"Hot? Attractive? Jaw droppingly gorgeous? Super sexay?"

"It's good to have the old Greg back."

"Did you miss him?"

"Like a hole in the head."

"You love me really."

"Just a little. I did miss you though. And it's good to see you happy."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For calling Matt. For not letting me give up on my life. For being you."

"I wouldn't be me without you Greg."

* * *

Greg.

That guy who'd came to see her.

Who'd told her he loved her.

Who Lucy… Lindsey…. Whatever her name was… would never shut up about.

Who all those others who'd visited had talked about.

Who she was going home with.

Kissing.

Arguing.

Leaving.

Seeing again.

Missing.

Nearly blowing up.

Apologising.

Falling in love with.

What the hell?

* * *

"Greg! Over here man."

"It's been so long buddy!"

"Yeah we missed you dude."

"I missed you guys too. It's been too long."

"I second that."

"Does this place still do those burgers with bacon?"

"Yeah they do. Here, I'll order."

"Thanks. Four of them."

"You think I don't remember?"

"Well, we did order the same thing every Tuesday for four years."

"So update. What you all doing with your lives? Joey, you still in Paris?"

"Me and Alexa moved to Boston after the wedding. She's still working as a part-time model and I got a job with the bomb squad."

"You always did love blowing stuff up, didn't you?"

"Hey. Now I'm stopping people from blowing stuff up."

"What about you Karl?"

"Well, I got promoted at the school. I'm vice princiapal now. And Melissa's pregnant again. Ellie and Lara, her two kids from her first marriage are still in middle school."

"And you Matt?"

"Well, still working at the same place, still living in Chicago, the twins are three now and we got a new dog. That's about it. You?"

"Absolutely nothing. Still in the same place, still a CSI, still hopelessly in love with a woman who doesn't even remember me. Other than that, great."

"Hey. It gets better man."

"I don't think so. But I need to get over all that."

"Life's too short buddy."

"Yeah."

"And we're gonna have a great time tonight dude."

"We sure are."

* * *

She remembered.

She knew.

She was back.

But she didn't want to be.

She missed her old life.

She missed the days when everything was so simple.

She missed knowing exactly who she was.

She missed having somebody by her side who she thought loved her.

And she hated knowing the truth about him.

* * *

"I love it when by the time you get home it's already tomorrow."

"Yeah man."

"The best nights out don't finish when the night does. They go on into the morning."

"I'm so screwed for work tomorrow."

"Yeah and my flight back is at like nine o clock."

"Mines at eight."

"I'm getting the train back at ten."

"Well I'm gonna skip work. Grissom won't mind. I'm technically on leave anyway."

"Lucky."

"Yeah, I feel for you guys."

"Hey, hey, remember this song?"

"Our song!"

"Hey, Mr. Taxi driver, turn this one up?"

"Thank you!"

"Would it be really childish to sing along."

"Yes. But when have we ever been afraid of that?"

"He makes a good point."

"TONI-I-I-I-IGHT! WEEEE ARE YOU-OUNG!"

"SO LET'S SET THE WORLD ON FI-RE!"

"WE CAN BURN BRI-GHTER!"

"THAN THE SU-U-U-U-U-UN!"

"This is my place Stop now Mr. Taxi driver!"

"Bye Greg!"

"See you some other time dude!"

"We gotta catch up again!"

"I'll call you guys. Thanks for coming to Vegas!"

"Bye Greg!"

"Bye!"

* * *

"The test results say her mind is functioning normally."

"Then why isn't she remembering?"

"According to the machiones she should be."

"Hello? Do you remember anything?"

"I'm Doctor Mason. This is nurse Jillian. Do you hear us?"

"Her eyes are open, but she doesn't seem to be listening."

They were talking about her.

They knew she remembered.

But she wasn't ready.

She wasn't ready to leave this bed.

Wasn't ready to go back out in the world where everything was so confusing.

She wanted her old life back.

Gregory Sandson.

Lucy.

Their house in New York.

Maybe if she pretended nothing had changed, it would all go back to normal?

Maybe if she just stayed here forever she wouldn't have to face the world?

Maybe she could surpass the remembering?

Maybe she could ignore the rememebering?

But her head was such a mess.

And she wasn't sure how much longer she could stay sane.

At that moment, she wanted to scream.

"She's going into convulsions!"

"Get emergency medical assistants here right now!"

"She's flatlining!"

"Pulse is getting weaker!"

"We're losing her!"

Finally.


	18. Dear Diary

**I haven't posted this in months, but thanks to a message from josiegrace I've decided to start writing it again. Review if you want me to continue.**

**This chapter is set in the past, I'd suggest looking back a few chapters to remember what's happening.**

Her eyes fluttered open. And there was nothing. She saw nothing but black in fron of her, and she thought nothing. Nothing but black.

The lights came up a little, and the first thought that drifted into her mind was this: who am I?

She sat up, her head reeling. She realised she didn't know who she was, where she was, what she was. She knew nothing about herself. She knew nothing about anybody.

A lone tear rolled down her cheek, as the feelings of hopelessness incapacitated her. The emptiness was engulfing her. She suddenly had a memory, a definition she had learnt in Science class. Something about Vacuums. A vacuum is an area where all the air and gas has been sucked out. So there is nothing. She felt like the was a vacuum, like everything had been sucked out of her. She had literally nothing.

She was helpless. She couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't even think. Because what do you think about when there's nothing on your mind?

And then all of a sudden she felt a pair of big strong arms wrapped around her, and the sensation was so umfamiliar and yet pleasant at the same time she started to cry again. They were still for a while, but finally he pulled her away. "Ssshhh..." he whispered.

"What...who.." she managed to choke out.

"Sit down he said calmly, pulling her down onto a sofa. She realised that the room she had thought was empty actually had furniture in it, and paint on the walls.

"I..." she began, but the men interupted her.

"Your name" he said "Is Catherine Willows. You have hit your head, and you have amnesia."

Amnesia. She knew what that was. She remembered reading about it somewhere. It meant she couldn't rememember anything. That made sense. That was what was wrong. She breathed a sigh of relief. She had had a life, and now this man was going to explain it to her.

"I am your boyfriend. We live together. Wait..." he dug in his pocket and produced a photo "that's us."

"That's me?" she asked, looking at the unfamiliar face.

"Oh yes.. of course... you don't know... here." He handed her a mirror and a face like the one in the photo, only older, looked back at her. That was her. That was what tshe looked like.

"We have a daughter. She's probably in her room right now, you can talk to her later. For now, have a look at this." He passed her a big book, bound in leather. She flicked open the first page. It was a photo album. Full of photographs of her and this man and a girl she assumed was their daughter.

"I'll leave you with the book." he said, getting up to leave. "Call me when you're ready to talk."

"Wait!" she yelled. "What's your name?"

"Gregory Sandson. Our daughter is called Lucy."

Grant, or Gregory opened the door to Lindseys bedroom. Yes she was just waking up aswell.

He watched her confusion for a moment of two, and then told her the same as he had just told her mother. He left her feeling confused, but better than she felt when she had first woken up. Feeling grateful towards him.

Lindsey, or Lucy thought for a long time, and when her mind was too tired to think anymore, she decided just to sleep. So she did. For a long time. And when she woke up, she decided to have a look around her room. Underneath her pillow she found a book. A diary. She opened the first page. There was a letter there. It read, in block capitals. YOU ARE LINDSEY WILLOWS. That intruiged her. She flipped over to the other side of the note and started to read.

_Dear Lindsey. Son't believe anything he says. Your name is Lindsey Willows, and you live with your mum Catherine Willows and her boyfriend Greg Sanders. This man you are with now is called Grant Eastwood. He is a bad man. He kidnapped you and your mother and he's given you drugs to make you lose your memory. He wants you to think you are his family because he's in love with your mother but he is bad. He is really bad. Lock the door to your bedroom. This is the journal I have been keeping since he kidnapped us first, because at the time I thought it was kind of Anne Frankey and I hoped it would get published. It will help you remember who you are._

_Dear diary,_

_He took me today. I am in his house now. He has a gun. He told me that my mummy is on the way over and if I don't act like I like him and I want to stay he will kill her and me too. I hate him, and I don't want mummy tothink I like him but I don't want to die, and I don't want her to die either. _

_Dear diary,_

_He's done something to my mummy. It all started when he made her eat dinner, and then she went all wierd, like she doesn't know she's been kidnapped. I bet he's made her pretend she likes me. I bet he said he'd kill her if she didn't. I don't like this._

_Dear diary, _

_Mummy is still pretending. And so am I, but I don't want to anymore. I don't want to die either. But I want to leave so bad that I am going to try talking to mummy. She acts like she doesn't know who were are sometimes, and she hasn't mentioned Greg once. But I know he'll come and find us._

_Dear diary,_

_I talked to mummy and she didn't know what I was talking about. She didn't know who Greg was, or Grant or even me. She just kept mumbling. I think she's gone crazy and I'm scared. Grant keeps making us family dinners but I don't want to eat his food because then he is going to think I like him so I don't eat at all.. But I creep down to the kitchen in the night and make toast or cereal or eat fruit or yoghurt. He doesn't know. He doesn't even notice me. Only Mummy._

_Dear diary,_

_Today we went out for dinner and I tried to tell mummy to escape but she wouldn't and I couldn't go withouth her because then Grant would kill her. So I had to stay and go back to the house and he locked all the doors again. Please come get us Greg._

_Dear diary, _

_Today I found his book. I was looking around in his office and I found a book. It looked suspicous so I took it and I'm so glad I did. It had his plan for what he's going to do to us. He really is very clever. But bad. Very bad. I tried to tell mummy but she got cross and didn't believe me. And I couldn't say anything too loud because then Grant would know I know. I'm so glad I've still been pretending I like him all this time. He has no idea. But I'm scared. Because I tried to get out and get help before it's too late but I can't. And I know I won't be able to stop it, that there will be no going back. And then he has won and I can't stop him. This diary is my last hope. Please find it Lindsey, and please do something. Grant's book is in the pink jewelery box. Read it. Grant is coming now so I have to hide this. I hope this works. Just remember, you are Lindsey Willows._

Lindsey, or Lucy, didn't know what to do. Was this true? Why should she believe a lot of words in a book instead of the very nice man? She decided to check the pink jewelery box. But first, she locked her door. Because she thought it couldn't hurt. She opened the box. And there it was, a book. Just like she said. It was all true then. She was Lindsey Willows.


	19. Moving on

**This chapter is set in the future, hope it makes sense. This is only a short filler chapter, but I need to make my past catch up already. Enjoy.**

Grissom had sent a text to three people.

Come 2 my office now, the text had said.

So they did.

"Grissom?" Warrick called.

"We're here." Nick announced.

"Nick. Warrick." Grissom greeted them.

"What's up?" Warrick asked.

"We got here as soon as we could." Nick told him.

"It's Catherine. Her heart stopped beating last night." Grissom said slowly.

"No!" Warrick yelled.

"Is she...?" Nick began.

"Dead? No. But she's in a coma, and they don't know when she's going to wake up." Grissom explained.

"This is horrible." Warrick moaned.

"Has anybody told Greg yet?" Nick asked.

"Not yet. I've texted Sara she's on her way." Grissom answered.

"What about Greg?" Warrick asked.

"And Lindsey?" Nick added.

"We can discuss what to tell them when we're all here." Grissom said.

As Greg got out of bed, he didn't know what to think. He had gone from happiness to sadness to depression to attempted suicide. He had gone from raw to numb so many times that he didn't feel either anymore. And now, he decided he should move on. Because he had tried to deal with it every other way and none had worked. He had to face the facts that Catherine was never coming back. He had to try and be normal again. He had to go to work, do his job well, talk to his friends, drink his coffee, call his mom, go out to bars, try to find a new girlfriend, laugh, cut his hair, buy new clothes, do his own shopping. He had to try and be normal. Try for Lindsey. Because he was all she had.

As Lindsey got out of bed, she didn't know what to think. She had gone from no understanding, to lots of understanding to being the only one who understood. She had gone from real to fake so many times that she couldn't define them anymore. And now, she decided she should forget the truth. Because she had tried to explain it before and it hadn't worked. She had to face the facts that her mom was never coming back. She had to try and be normal again. She had to go to school, do her homework, talk to her friends, draw picture, read books, go for sleepovers, go to dance class, have fun, go shopping, buy new toys, start soccer class again. Se had to try and be normal. Try for Greg. Because she was all he had.

They both denied what they new, fearing that they would upset the other. They didn't realise that if they had just put their two halves of a story together, they would have got the full story. They would have gotten the answers they had desperately been seeking. Instead they pretended that everything was okay, and they ate their breakfast and watched TV together in silence. But at least neither of them were alone anymore.

Sara burst into the room where Grissom, Nick and Warrick sat.

"Sorry I'm late, jsut saw the text now." she apologised, sitting down in the cahir that someone had gotten out for her.

"It's alright." Grissom nodded.

"Catherine's in a coma." Nick told her.

"Oh." Sara said, a little in shock.

"Last night her heart stopped." Grissom explained.

"But I thought she was fine?" Sara asked.

"Aside from the fact she has no idea who we are and had made up a life for herself?" Warrick snarled.

"Sorry. I meant physically fine."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry for snapping." Warrick apologised.

"It's true though." Grissom cut in. "She seemed physically fine. In fact, had we not been there, if she was completely annonymous to the hospital staff they would have believed her that this was her life and let her out. But we know the truth."

"Have you been to visit her?" Sara asked.

"Only when she was in a coma." Grissom sighed. "Have you?"

"I've been too busy with Greg." she sighed. She turned to her friend "Nick?"

"Yeah, me and Warrick went to see her." Nick nodded.

"Did you talk?" Grissom asked.

"Yes. We told her were doctors so we didn't have to wait an hour being told we must have the wrong Catherine Willows because she does not know us." Warrick laughed.

"And?" Sara egged him on.

"Warrick asked her to tell us about her life." Nick explained.

"What did she say?" Grissom continued to question him.

"She told us she lived in New York with Gregory Sandson, her husband, and Lucy, her daughter." Warrick told them.

"Did she mention anything before that?" Sara asked.

"No. She has no memories of what happened before she went missing, only what she thinks happened since then." Nick explained.

"What's going to happen to her now?" Sara asked Grissom.

"They don't know. They're doing a full drugs test, but they don't even know if she'll live." Grissom sighed.

"I bet they find all sorts of halucination drugs." Warrick guessed.

"Yes, he's probably had her locked up in a basement all this time and had her on drugs." Nick added.

"And when the mind has no facts to clong onto, it embelishes untilt the brain no longer knows what is real and what isn't." Grissom told them.

"Then why doesn't she remember us?" Sara asked.

"It's a common side effect of the drugs he might have been giving her. Sadly, it's probably ireverasble." Grissom said.

"We'll never get her back?" Nick asked.

"Maybe not." Grissom shook his head.

**Leave me a review?**


	20. Shaping The Past

**Wooh I'm getting super good at updating this! Thanks again to jennymessy for the review!**

**This one is set in the past. We're getting closer to the future now though. Hope you like it!**

"Greggie?" Catherine called.

"Yes honey!" he replied, running into the room.

"Do I like orange juice?" she asked him.

"Yes. Here, let me get you some." he smiled.

"Thank you." she said, as he handed her a glass.

"Anything else?" he asked her.

"Kind of." she muttered.

"What is it?" he persisted.

"Tell me about my friends?" she asked quietly.

"What about them?" he asked.

"Why don't I have any?" she mumbled.

"Well honey, when I told them you had amnesia they all freaked out and didn't want to be your friend anymore. And they haven't contacted you since."

"Oh. So I have no friends?"

"None anymore."

"What about family?"

"You never had any. Your mother died a year ago, you never knew your father."

"Who else do I know besides you?"

"Lucy."

"That's it?"

"I have an idea. How about we move away from here, somewhere where nobody knows us. We make new friends, get Lucy started in a new school, and start again?"

"That sounds really amazing."

"Where do you want to go?"

"New York."

"Why New York?"

"It's the only place name I can remember."

"New York it is then. I'll start looking for places there."

"Thank you Greggie."

"I love you Catherine."

"I love you too."

It had been two hours since Catherine had woken up with amnesia. And in that short space of time, Grant Eastwood had built up a whole life for her. And she believed every last word of it. He had told her to call him Greggie. And she had. And she was in love.

Meanwhile, Lindsey was in her room. She was reading Grants book.

_Plan_

_Phase one - pick up Lindsey from school under the alias of Steven and bring her back here - done_

_Phase two - threaten Lindsey with death to her and her mother so she'll do anything - done_

_Phase three - send video of Lindsey to Catherine to make her come to the house - done_

_Phase four - give Catherine and Lindsey the drugs, make sure they are in everything they eat - done_

_Problem: drugs are not making them forget quickly enough. They are only having short term memory loss - solved_

_Phase five - find a way to give them amnesia - done_

_Phase six - hit them right below the cranium, like the book said, to give them a complete memory wipe-out - tomorrow_

_Phase seven - once they wake up, shape their memories and make up a future._

_I will need: _

_photoshopped pictures_

_fake IDs_

_an answer to every possible question they could have_

_Answers:_

_Friends - freaked out when they found out about amnesia and won't talk to them again_

_Family - all dead_

_Past - In their photo album_

_Lindseys school - homeschooled_

_Names - Gregory Sandson, Lucy Willows._

_Phase eight - move them to a random town where nobody knows us. _

_Phase nine- destroy all evidence of us in Vegas_

_Phase ten - start our lives together._

There was only one was to know for sure if this was true. Lindsey hid both books, then called Grant to her room. 

_"_Gregory" she asked him "where did I go to school?"

"You were homeschooled." He said. "Anything else?"

"No." She closed her door behind him and sat down on her bed.

This was a lot of information to take in at once, especially for a little girl. She realised Lindsey must have found the book the day before he wiped out their memories. The diary entry made sense. She knew what he was planning to do but there was no way she could stop him. But she had made sure she would't forget who she really was. And now it was all up to her. Lindsey realized though, that she couldn't just escape. Because once Grant knew she knew the secret he would go into hiding with Catherine and she'd never be able to find her. And she couldn't risk loosing her mother forever. No, she had to make a plan.

Three days after that, they moved to New York. Lindsey didn't even have time to pack, he just told them all to get into the car, they'd get new stuff in New York. Two days after they had moved house, a mysterious fire broke out there. Of course, when there is a fire, crime scene investigators are called to check it out. And this time, they sent three CSI's on the night shift.

"Looks like a pretty routine house fire to me." Nick said.

"You saying it was an accident?" Warrick asked him.

"Seems to be." Nick replied.

"I bet you twenty bucks this was no accident."

"Why are you so sure it was deliberate?"

"Just gotta feeling."

"You're on."

"Let's get searching."

"Hey Greggo, you find anything at the perimetre yet?"

No reply.

"G?"

They found Greg outside, looking through a pile of rubbish that had been blown through a broken window.

"This is hers." he held up an earring.

"Hers?"

"It's Catherines earring."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'll prove it to you."

With that he left, running towards his jeep.

"He's loosing it."

"He's going through a tough time. He'll be back."

Much searching later, the CSI's had bagged and tagged the remains of some pills, loads of things they couldn't identify, the other earring (for Greg's sake), a match book, some kerosense, a watch, the fire alarm and two chared books that had been hidden in a bag in a box under what used to be a bed.

"What do you have for me?" Hodges asked as they emptied out a bag of stuff.

"Check the kerosene we found in the shed and see if it matches the stuff this watch is soaked in."

"Arson?"

"Looks like it."

Next on to Henry.

"Test these pills, tell us what they are."

"You got it."

The electrical guy, Ron.

"Find out why this alarm didn't go off."

"Sure."

Mandy.

"Look for fingerprints on any of this stuff."

"It's pretty charred, I doubt you'll get anything."

"Try."

"Okay."

Wendy.

"Have a look for DNA on this earring?"

"I will."

Archie.

"See if you can use the computer to get any words from these books."

"Dude, they're like black."

"Have a go?"

"Fine."

Then Nick and Warrick compared the match they had found beside the watch soaked in kerosene to the match book. A perfect fit. They had found the matches outside in the shed. It was definately no accident.

Greg came rushing into the lab.

"The earrings aren't at home! They're missing, and we found them at a crime scene! She's been burned to death!" He began to cry.

"Greg, she could have just lost them. Or else she is still wearing them now."

"But we found them! At the scene!"

"Look. See what it says in the records? Between 1991 and 2003, thirty five thousand of these earrings were made and sold. These could be anyones."

"But..." he stopped talking then, and put his head on Nicks shoulder. He cried some more.

The results camde back. The kerosene in the shed matched, there were no fingerprints anywhere, the house had been registered to a false and untracable name, there were no words to be found, no DNA on the earring, or anything else in the house. The alarm had been broken, so it never went off. The pills were too burnt to determine what they were. So they were left with nothing. Except for the fact that this was definately no accident. The case was shelved and no more was ever thought of it again.

Catherine, Lindsey and Grant disappeared without a trace and moved to New York.

Greg kept crying.


	21. Doctor Andrew Stevenson

**Okay, something a little bit different for this chapter. It's from an OC's POV. It's set in the future. Hope you enjoy. Also, I made all the medical stuff up. I am only 15 and have no idea what I am talking about but just play along?**

Doctor Andrew Stevenson had seen a lot of amnesia cases throught the years. This one, however puzzled him the most. He and Nurse Laura Mackenzie had figured out what had caused Ms Willows to loose her moemory. An x-ray of the head had proved that her lower cranium had been punctured, causing the skull to inflate and block out the part of her mind that controls personal memory. That explainned why she still knew what everything was, could recite her thriteen times tables and knew the names of all the Presidents of The United States. But she had no idea who she was. Well., she thought she did. According to the man who came in to visit her, he was her boyfriend and had been searching for her for quite some time. But Ms Willows was certain she was married to a Gregory Sandson. However, an elderly gentleman with glasses and grey hair had said something about a man called Grant Eastwood. It was all very confusing. They told him that they couldn't reveal information about an ongoing case, but they made his job very difficult. He was also Ms Willows' phsyciatrist, and although she hadn't been very cooperative in the sessions so far, a little bit of a background would help. That was cops for you though. They always had to be difficult, and their laws and procedures always had to come first, before patient confidentiality, before saving lives. Although the man with the afro had told him that they weren't cops, they were CSI's. Same thing really, he reckoned.

Ms Willows said that she remembers waking up, with no idea of who she was. She calimed to have woken up with Gregory Sandson, or Greggie, as she referred to him, much to the annoyance of Dr. Stevcenson, who had never cared for affectionate nicknames after being called Dr Sexy or Dr Hottie by one too many delusional female patients. She said Greggie had explained who she was, shown her photos, told her everything she wanted to know about her life. She told him they had moved to New York with their daughter whose name may or may not be Lucy, to avoid their nosey neighbours and ex-friends. They had a new life now, and although she never regained any of her memory, they had new friends and a happy life. She was just like any woman, except missing the first half of her life. And now they had moved her away from her home and sent her beloved Greggie to jail and put her in a hopsital bed even though she wasn't sick and they wouldn't let her leave and they kept asking her questions and strange people kept coming over to her and claiming to know her and it was all too much.

That was three days ago. She hadn't talked since then. She just lay there, eyes open, not eating. They had to give her food drink and medicine by a drip, because she wouldn't open her mouth. All the medical tests showed that she was functioning normally and should be able to act as she always did. But she wasn't. Because she didn't want to.

Ms Willows was an ongoing project for him. She had the gentleman with the strange hair, the Greggie she referred to who was apparently in jail, this Grant Eastwood, whoever he was, and many other male visitors who seemed to care a lot about her. A man with an afro and another with a Texan accent had been into see her a few times, as had the gentleman with the grey curly hair and glasses. He's brought along some pig in a jar to try and refresh her memory, but of course it wasn't allowed into the isolation room. There had also been a balding detective who he'd met a few times before, enguiring about patients who fitted into whatever his current mystery to solve was. There had also been a man in a suit who had introduced himself as Conrad Ecklie, Head of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Dr Stevenson hadn't liked him. In fact, he had to say his favourite of all these possible suitors had to be the person with the strange hair. Dr Stevenson felt bad for him. He always seemed sad.

Once they had figured out what was wrong, it was simple to fix it. Some quick and effective surgery had put her skull back into place, and her memory should have been coming back in waves ever since. They had been giving her drugs to help slow it down, so she wasn't too overwhelmed. They had pills for pretty ,much anything. They could do pretty much anything. They had pills to make her memories come back faster, and pills to make them come back all at once, if she was ready. They could slow it way down so she only remembered one day of her life everyday. They could make it stop all together, but that would be kind of pointless after having done the surgery. The drugs they were giving her were intended to start her off slowly, but by now she should be remembering all of her first memories, from her childhood to teens. There would probably be a mental block for the week or so before the accident, those memories would probably be the last to come back. She should be remembering more and more each day. Of course, that accident last night had slowed it down a little. A silly mistake, Nurse Carol something, her last name was really insignifigent to him, she was young and fresh out of college, that's all he knew. Nurse Carol had left the pills right where she could reach them, and Ms Willows had taken over thirty at once. He figured it was an attempt to stop the memories, she obviously didn't like where they were taking her. She didn't understand that there was a different pill to take for that. All she did was make her memories come agonisingly, painfully slow, like watching an action movie in slow motion. And of course, there had been other medical complitcations.

Last night, they had lost her, momentarily. Her heart had stopped beating, as a result of an overdose of the pills. Luckily they had brought her back, and brought the memories up to normal speed. She obviously didn't want to remember though, judging by the stunt she had pulled, and Doctor Stevenson had suggested stopping the memories for the time being until she was ready for them. But all of her visitors, especially the sad man with the strange hair, had insisted that she needed to remember. The sooner the better. But of course Dr Stevenson didn't want to hurt his patient, so he kept things at the slow, steady pace they were going at. All in all, she was a puzzle. And he couldn't help but feel that if the cops, or ISC's or whatever it was they were would just fill him in on his patients background, he would be able to help her. In the meantime, all he could do was wait, watch and do tests.

He stopped to look at her medical chart which hung on the side of her bed. It didn't reveal very much, she had an allergy to shellfish and bee stings, had given birth once and there was no history in her family of any memory related disorders that might interfere with the treatment. He put the chart down again and turned to look at her. She stred right through him, with empty eyes. He just didn't understand. She should be remembering, but either there was a problem with the treatment, or she just didn't want to. She was very beautiful, and whichever of these males was her chosen companion, they were very lucky.

There were a few possibilities. The sad man with the strange hair could be insane. But this was unlikely, they'd tested him just to be sure. Besides, all these other visitors were telling the same story as him. So in that case the life she thought she had must be wrong. How could somebody make up a future for themselves though? They had checked and there were no hallucinatory drugs in her system that could lead to this. There were no drugs at all, in fact. In her daughter they had found drugs that induced short term memory loss, as well as the same injury to the skull that her mother had had. So somebody had tried to wipe both their memories out, but maybe it hadn't worked with the daughter so they'd felt the need to continue it. The girl was fine, although she wouldn't talk to them, the sad man with the strange hair who had taken her away had said she remembered things. It was all so very odd. It was looking like somebody had intentionally made her forget everything. But who would do that? Why not just kill her? Then her remembered that this whole life she thought she'd lived was based on what that man had told her. Greggie. And if she was with her when she woke up, surely he was the one who had given her amnesia? That would explain why he was in jail, wouldn't it? It was all a very starange crime though, and it was even staranger that she fancied herself in love with this criminal, if that was who he was.

Dr. Stevenson considered other amnesia sufferers he had seen. He had seen many patients wake up without a clue of who they are, or where they are, or what their lives were like. He would tell them everything he knew about their life until they remembered enough to piece it all together. But suddenly he wondered what would happen if he didn't tell them the truth? Surely they would believe him? They are so desperate to know who they are that they would cling onto anything. He is left with a blank slate, he could make up anything he wanted to and they would believe him, and live how he told them they used to live. This was starting to look less and less like a mystery and more and more like the perfect crime. He just hoped that Ms Willows would figure out what happened soon enough and go back to the sad man with the strang hair, if he was her partner.

Then, Doctor Andrew Stevenson made an impulsive decision. His first actually. He was a man who played by the rules, and his many qualifications and awards on the wall proved that playing by the rules worked for him. But now, he put his heart first. He gave Catherine one pill, just one. A pill to make all her memroies come back. Come back right away.

He needed to solve this mystery.


End file.
